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THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

JUM, )9 1902 

Copyright entry 

K'Vn.'Mj 1.1^ ^ IC^ D 1- 

CLASS CL XXa No. 

uf- i ^ ^ 

^ COPY B. 


Copyright 1901 and 1902 
By Dan V. Stephens 


First Edition (1901) paper cover, 60,000 copies 
Second Edition (1902) cloth cover, 5,000 copies 
De Luxe Edition, 100 copies 


INTRODUCING PHELPS AND HIS TEACHERS. 


» N THE following sketches the aim of the 
author has been ,to bring teacher and 
patron to a better understanding of the 
child, and incidentally of each other. Most of our 
troubles arise from misunderstandings, followed by 
hasty acts and words. It is so easy to misunder- 
stand a child because he has such a limited power 
of expression. He often stumbles in his effort to 
understand and master things — often expresses 
thoughts he does not have, and does things he does 
not mean to do. In a measure this is also true 
of his grown up friends. 

So it follows that complaints are frequent — the 
child against the teacher and the teacher against the 
child; the patron against both and vice versa. Few 
of us are willing to concede to another an individu- 
ality that differs from our own. 

This arrogancy of spirit leads us to tyrannize over 
our weaker friends with a desire to make them con- 
form to our notions of what they should be. Thus 
we fall into the habit of nagging, pruning, and 
otherwise affecting the character of the child and 


each other when we are often in nowise competent 
to do so. It is not an uncommon thing for a genius 
to spring from a parent, who, ignorant and tyranni- 
cal, labors with fanatic zeal to crush out what 
seems to him to be a worthless characteristic. The 
world is filled with minds that could become great 
and helpful to humanity were their lots cast in a 
more congenial atmosphere where fanatics who 
imagine they, only, are in the right, could not 
trample them under foot. 

The school and home should help the child’s 
development along lines natural to his growth. 
This individuality should be considered. Let us 
get away from the idea that we own his life and 
can do with it as we please, and not be held 
responsible for our acts. Let us be sure that in our 
effort to make him grow straight and strong we do 
not make him grow crooked and weak. And above 
all, let us be charitable toward him and each other. 

The Author. 


Fremont, Neb., June i, 1902. 



PHELPS IN THE FIRST GRADE 
I 

ONG before Phelps started 
to school — and he didn’t 
start until he was seven 
years old — his mamma told 
him about his prospective 
teacher. Phelps was curi- 
ous about her. Would she 
be like his mamma or Jim- 
mie’s mamma, who lived 
across the street? His mamma assured him his 
teacher would be a kind, sweet woman who would 
love him. And Phelps believed it. Even Phelps’ 
mamma believed it, for how could any one fail to 
love her boy. 

In time Phelps was seven years old and was duly 
kissed and sent to school. It was a red-letter day at 
his home. All day his mamma waited and thought 
about her boy at school and wondered how he was 
getting along. He was the center of the classes as 
he appeared in her mind’s eye; the pride of the 
teacher and the school. She could not foresee that 
there might be other boys and girls there who were 
sweet and lovable. She could not foresee that the 





lO 


Phelps and His Teachers 


teacher might be heartless — without a spark of 
love for children. She could not understand that 
any one would or could govern children without 
love. How blind is love! She had her awakening 
that day when Phelps came home. He was crushed 
and discouraged. The teacher was ill-tempered, 
bad-mannered, and short in judgment, yet because 
she knew her multiplication tables and a few other 
purely mechanical things, she had been given 
authority to teach. 

“Why, mamma, the teacher whipped a little boy 
to-day, and slapped a little girl that sat next to me. 
She looks so cross, I don’t love her. You told me 
I would love my teacher, and that she would be 
nice, like you.” 

Phelps’ mamma sat a long time looking out of 
the window and thinking. Her boy thought she 
had deceived him. She had taught him to think 
that everybody was good, kind, and loving. Be- 
cause her heart was so full of it, she forgot her sad 
experience to the contrary. At any rate, everybody 
would be good to her boy — how could they help it? 
People who are good find lots of good rising up to 
meet them everywhere they go. 

The next day Phelps came home and told his 
mamma another story of strife and worry at school. 
And the next was no better. It seemed that 
each day brought forth new adventure. It was 
ever a contest between the teacher and pupils. She 
had no love in her heart, and no love rose up to 
meet her. She had a heart full of selfishness and 


Phelps and His Teachers 


II 


fear — fear that the pupils would get the upper hand 
of her. The fear was the result of her selfishness. 
So her days were filled with strife — the bad that 
was in her calling forth all the bad that was in her 
school — all of it concentrated against her. 

The children would go home at night and cry 
over their troubles with their teacher in their 
mammas’ arms, where there was always sympathy 
to be found. Some mammas went to the teacher, 
others sent notes — all protesting. Then the day 
following would be worse. Not only selfish and 
cowardly, but narrow and ignorant, the teacher 
would radiate an aura of meanness around her so 
intense that all the love in the school would be 
driven into hiding. Even those bright little fellows 
who are always bubbling over with love and life 
would settle down dejectedly — while those others 
who inherit a little from the nether kingdom would 
be aroused to bitter resentment. 

So the poor teacher in her ignorance was suffer- 
ing severely as a result of it, and cultivating in the 
children, who might otherwise have had sweet dis- 
positions, a bitter hatred for her and school life in 
general. 

One day, after the teacher had been called upon 
by a few outraged parents in regard to her brutal 
and otherwise ignorant treatment of their children, 
she was unusually severe. Among the number 
who had protested was Phelps’ mamma. She had 
done this unknown to the boy. 

“Children,” she began, with a deep scowl on her 


12 


Phelps and His Teachers 


face, “I want to talk to you about tale-bearing. 
You have been going home and telling things that 
you have no business to tell.” And at this she 
glared at Phelps as if she would eat him at one 
gulp. “You have even lied — lied, do you under- 
stand?” Here she began to get red in the face and 
perspire. “I tell you, you have no business going 
home with tales about the school — tattlers! Pd be 
ashamed of myself!” At this period of her dis- 
course she emitted a sneer of contempt and went 
on with her recitations. 

Imagine the feelings of a mother who has thrown 
around her child every refined thought and influence 
within her power; kept sweet and even-tempered 
through the years of his babyhood; always spoken 
kindly to him, and always chided with love where 
reproof was necessary; all this in order that the 
good might grow and the bad might starve. Try 
to take her place just long enough to imagine your 
child sitting day after day under the influence of a 
mind like the one just described. The very idea of 
such a person being licensed to teach school and 
sent out to administer her poison in small doses to 
other people’s children is shocking in the extreme. 

That night Phelps went home crying. He told 
his mamma that the teacher had said that they were 
tattlers, that they told lies, and that she looked right 
at him, and that he just despised her. She 
tried to console him and soften his heart toward 
her. She told him how hard it was to manage so 
many pupils, and perhaps she was not feeling well. 


Phelps and His Teachers 


13 


It is so easy to be cross when we are not well and 
the children are not good. She told him it was 
wrong to despise any one. That he should not feel 
that way, but that instead he should feel sorry for 
her because of all the trouble she had to bear. 

On Friday afternoon the teacher felt happy — the 
week’s drudgery was about ended. To her school- 
teaching was drudgery. She did not love her 
work. She would gladly give it up at a moment’s 
notice if a better position presented itself. So the 
only times she ever treated the children with con- 
sideration were on Friday afternoons, because of 
the joy she felt in the anticipation of having them 
off her hands for two days. In the midst of her 
pleasure she felt kindly toward everybody. The 
children brightened up under her smiles, and looked 
happy and contented. They were having a delight- 
ful time together. At the end of the session the 
teacher felt so good, surrounded by so much young 
life, and all of it reaching out for something to love 
and cling to, that she asked for the hands of all 
those who loved her. Every hand went up with an 
eager jerk and shake, so the teacher would not fail 
to see that each little heart went out to her — all 
save one, and that was Phelps. He sat crestfallen 
when he saw all eyes turned upon him. 

“Why, Phelps, dear, don’t you love me?” 

“No ma’am,” respectfully replied the boy. 

“Wh}^ don’t you, Phelps?” 

“Just because.” 

“Don’t you know why?” 


14 


Phelps and His Teachers 


“No ma’am.” 

She flushed red for an instant, probably angered 
at first, but seeing the frank countenance of the boy 
looking up at her, she felt a twinge of shame. 
That night she kept remembering that Phelps 
didn’t love her. It annoyed her quite a little. On 
Monday she set about trying to make Phelps love 
her. She seemed to hunger for it. She was as 
kind as she could be, which was not saying much 
for her. But before the day was over she had 
patted Phelps’ head once or twice and once she had 
put her arm around his shoulders. 

That evening Phelps told his mamma that he and 
the teacher understood each other now. But it was 
only for a day. Some of us can be good for an 
hour, others for a day, others for a month, and some 
even for a life-time, but, unfortunately for her, she 
found it too difficult to be good — it was not worth 
while to waste so much effort just to win a child’s 
love — so she drifted back to her old habits of scold- 
ing and whipping and looking ugly. It ^vas easier 
for her to live that way. It was in accord with her 
own coarse nature, which was in close relationship 
with the clod. 

Accordingly Phelps found he never understood 
her, or if he did it only lasted for a day. From a 
boy with an even, sweet temper he became nervous 
and excitable before the first month was over. 
Before the second month closed she took him out 
into the cloak-room one afternoon and whipped him. 
After this he hated her so much he did not learn 


Phelps and His Teachers 


15 


anything. His mamma had to compel him to go to 
school. Matters came to such a pass that his papa’s 
attention was called to it. He had a talk with the 
boy. To his great surprise and sorrow the boy 
flew into a fit of passion and became ugly in the 
extreme. As the last recourse he was whipped for 
the first time in his whole life in his own home. 
This seemed to complete his degradation, and he 
went to school surly and rebellious. Ah! if people 
only knew how they sometimes commit a crime 
equal to that of taking a human life, they would 
study the ways of a child a long time before pounc- 
ing upon it as if they owned its life and had a right 
to abuse it. 

Phelps’ papa went to his work that day feeling 
like a brute. All day long his boy’s face would 
mix in with his papers and what other work he 
might be doing. Often he wondered why he had 
never noticed this condition of mind in his boy. 
How was it that all through his short young life he 
had not known of this ugly disposition? When he 
went home to dinner he questioned his wife on the 
subject, and found an explanation for it all in the 
temperament of the teacher. This was a serious 
matter with them^ — much more than anything else 
in the world. It was the making or ruining of a 
life. Would they be able to make the teacher 
understand that they wished to cooperate with her 
in an honest endeavor to control the boy? Would 
she not misconstrue their efforts, and think they 
were not in sympathy with her? — that they did not 


i6 Phelps and His Teachers 

understand her troubles, and that parents are always 
fools about their children anyway? But Phelps’ 
papa was no fool. He understood her weakness. 
He knew she was an uneducated girl with little 
experience and practically no conception of human 
nature. It was therefore with man}'^ misgivings 
that he went to see the teacher about it. They sat 
for an hour talking it over. The first three-quar- 
ters of that time he spent in strategy — playing for a 
position — trying to get into her way of thinking so 
as not to offend her — so that he might be able to 
show her the right way. He tried to get her away 
from the thought that he was against her, but 
through it all she was on the defensive. So strong 
was this animal instinct of defense in her she could 
not think of anything else. She could not under- 
stand a nature that was sufficiently unselfish not to 
want to sacrifice the interests of others for its own 
benefit. Finally he gave up trying to reach her by 
strategy, and concluded that perhaps it might be 
well to jar her a little, so he said: 

“Miss , my profession is the law; yours is 

school teaching. It ill becomes me, no doubt, to 
try to tell you how to teach school, just as it would 
be for you to tell me how to practice law. How- 
ever, you have a chance to take your case to some 
one else in the event that I do not handle it properly. 
I haven’t that privilege in your case. You are 
thrust upon me whether I like it or not, and you 
spoil my child’s mind. The only way I can help 
myself is to keep the boy out of school. I came to 


Phelps and His Teachers 17 

you in an honest effort to help you handle the boy, 
but you resent it, and do not even conceive of a 
possibility that you could do any better than you are 
doing. The boy never gave us a moment’s trouble 
until you took him in charge, and now after three 
months his little mind is poisoned and his ideals 
destroyed. You even told him with the others that 
they carried lies home to their parents. Such talk 
and the ill-temper you display before your pupils 
are sufficient to bring out all the disagreeable traits 
of character in them. I deplore it, and heartily 
wish that you might do better, and get the children 
to like you so your work would be more effective.” 

“The children do like me,” she replied emphati- 
cally. “No longer than a month ago they practi- 
cally all held up their hands in response to that 
very question.” 

“All but my boy; why didn’t he hold up his 
hand? Love answers to love and he did not 
respond to that sentiment.” 

“It’s because he is encouraged to disobey me at 
home; that is why, exactly.” 

“There you are wrong again. Suspicions will 
destroy us sooner or later if we encourage them. 
I had to whip the little fellow yesterday as a result 
of your treatment of him. Yes, whip him — do you 

hear that. Miss ? The first time in my life I 

had to use the rod on my son as a result of the 
blighting influence you have had over him. He is 
almost unmanageable, and hates you with a vin- 
dictiveness that appalls me in one so young. You 


2 


1 8 Phelps and His Teachers 

irritate me even almost beyond my ability to control 
myself. You are not suited to the work. I say this 
to you candidly and with no intent to do you injury. 
You cannot understand the responsibility a parent 
feels for the future of his child.” 

They quit just where they began, save that the 

bitterness on both sides was intensified. Miss 

taught school just as she always did, and just about 
as she always will so long as weak, ignorant 
humanity will tolerate that sort of a thing. The 
responsibility of a teacher for good or ill is not 
appreciated by us as a people. The importance of 
the work of a county superintendent in selecting 
teachers is out of all proportion with that of any 
other profession. The professional skill required 
to save a human life in the face of a disease of the 
body is nothing compared to the cultivation of a 
human soul. A county superintendent who care- 
lessly licenses a coarse, ignorant person to practice 
on little children is to be pitied because his crime is 
so great. First of all requirements in the character 
of a teacher should be the power to love children. 
Without it a teacher is a failure. In addition to this 
she should be refined and gentle, possessing an 
honest heart, clean habits and a good strong body. 
Then add to these a knowledge of books. If it is 
impossible to get the last with the first, take the first 
without hesitancy. It is infinitely better that the 
child miss the learnings of the wise men, rather 
than receive it from a vulgar, cross-grained teacher 
whose very breath is laden with a blighting poison. 



PHELPS IN THE SECOND GRADE 
II 

FTER a year of turmoil in 
Phelps’ home and school, 
as a result of a constant 
warfare between himself 
and his teacher, he was pro- 
moted to the second grade. 
It was a day of great 
rejoicing on Phelps’ part, 
but Phelps’s mamma was 
not happy. She knew, or thought she did, that 
Marie Anderson, the second grade teacher, was not 
what she ought to be. In fact, she classed her 
among the heartless set, with the added sin of being 
conscious that she was a very pretty woman, and 
took a particular delight in attracting the opposite 
sex to her. Phelps’ mamma was a very proper 
and conscientious woman, and had heard many 
scandalous stories about Marie Anderson during 
the ten years she had been teaching. These stories, 
of course, were not so very bad in the average per- 
son’s judgment, but Phelps’s mamma had no weak- 
ness in that direction, therefore had no charity. So 
many times in the decade past she had expressed 




20 


Phelps and His Teachers 


herself in a very uncomplimentary manner about the 
free and easy ways of Marie Anderson. So had 
many other people, for that matter. It was from 
other people Phelps’ mamma got her information. 
She wasn’t wicked enough to find it out first hand. 
Her neighbors and friends poured the poison into 
her mind regularly, and ten years of it counts up a 
little. 

Therefore, taking into account all the worry and 
sorrow Phelps’ mamma had passed through during 
his first year in the school under the care of the 
heartless teacher — seeing her carefully trained boy of 
seven develop into an ugly, hateful, revengeful lad at 
eight was quite sufficient to make her heavy-hearted, 
and almost soured on the public schools. She 
dreaded for school to begin, and had not even 
decided up to the very last day of vacation whether 
she would send him to school, or take the care of 
his instruction into her own hands. But Phelps’ 
papa decided the matter. He told his wife that 
there was always some hope for the women that 
admired men — they had some feeling, at least. It 
is supposed he was thinking of his interview with 
Phelps’ former teacher, and was contrasting her 
cold, ignorant face with the bright, intelligent 
countenance of Marie Anderson. So, with much 
dread of consequences, Phelps’ mamma sent him to 
school. So far as Phelps was concerned, it is 
sufficient to say that he went to school in full armor, 
and was ready for battle at a moment’s notice. 

When Marie Anderson first came to town, ten 


Phelps and His Teachers 


21 


years ago, her cheeks were full of color, and her 
eyes flashed with the sparkle of youth. Not that 
she had lost her color now, or the sparkle in her 
eyes, but ten years had softened the general effect. 
She gave in her age, when she applied to the county 
superintendent for a certificate, to be eighteen years, 
and it was so recorded in the great register in his 
office. In an interview long afterwards the superin- 
tendent said he could scarcely recall the opinion he 
formed of her as a teacher that day, because of the fact 
that her face and figure took up most of his atten- 
tion. He remembered only the strong effect left by 
her general appearance. She had a full, well- 
formed mouth, and a high forehead. Her face, as 
a whole, produced a general effect of strength. 
Her dress was modest, but withal so neat and well- 
made, it was a pleasure to look at her. She was 
above the average woman in size — enough so to be 
rather commanding in a crowd. Her complexion 
was as pure as crystal, with the most delicate sug- 
gestion of red in her cheeks and lips. In fact, she 
was a beautiful woman, and she knew it. She also 
knew that the men knew it. She could feel it in 
every glance. The pride she felt in her strength 
was very natural. A man feels that same pride in 
power when he holds the reins of a great enterprise 
and directs its affairs. The boy feels it when 
astride a horse or bicycle. The engineer feels it 
when tearing through the darkness on his engine. 
The thrill that comes with power is intoxicating. 
Marie Anderson took pride in the power she held 


22 


Phelps and His Teachers 


over men, but she did not lose her equilibrium. 
Just in the proportion that she excelled the average 
woman in that power the general talk about her 
conquests increased; not that she went out to make 
them nor yet that she made so very many, but 
because they wanted to talk about her. She was 
accomplished in many ways; could sing beautifully 
and dance, but no one, so far as Phelps’ mamma 
ever knew, had ever said she was a good teacher. 
That point seemed to have been over-looked 
entirely, though there were children in the second 
and third year of the High school who had passed 
through the second grade under her instruction. 

Phelps’ mamma waited with great anxiety for 
her boy to return from school the first day. It is 
true mothers are all alike, but there are a few 
really great loving women who take the matter of 
educating their children seriously to heart, and if 
teacher could get a glimpse of their feelings they 
would put more thought and conscience into the con- 
duct of their work. When Phelps came home his 
mamma hastened to ask him how he got along at 
school. His countenance fell at once as the thought 
of old battles at school, and the usual scene of 
sermonizing at home passed quickly in review 
before his mental eye. 

“Purty well I guess,” he replied. 

“Did you have good lessons, Phelps?” 

“No ma’am, not so very.” 

“What did the teacher do to punish you?” 

“Nothin’.” 


Phelps and His Teachers 


23 


“Didn’t she scold you?” 

“No, but the other teacher alius did.” 

“I think your teacher is very nice. (Here she 
slightly prevaricated.) 

“Yes ma’am. The other was on Fridays, too. 
This is the first day — jist the same as Fridays. 
’Spect to be licked to-morrer.” 

“I hope you will be good, Phelps, so she won’t 
have to whip you.” 

“If she ain’t good to me I won’t be good to her.” 

The next day when Phelps came home he made a 
few more concessions to the teacher. He was half 
inclined to believe she was all right. The third day 
he came home quite happy, and with considerable 
enthusiasm related an incident in which he and the 
teacher played important parts. On Friday morn- 
ing he informed his mother that he wanted his 
breakfast early, as he had an engagement to call at 
the teacher’s house and help carry some flowers to 
school. 

On Saturday Phelps’ papa met Marie Anderson 
on the street and inquired about Phelps’ progress 
in school. She reflected for a moment, as if in 
doubt whether she ought to express herself freely, 
and then replied: 

“Well, I will tell you frankly about Phelps. 
Somebody has not understood him, and he has been 
greatly abused. I may have done you an injustice 
in my thoughts, for from the first day I saw that he 
lacked confidence in me. Each day I studied his 
habits, and could see that he was always expecting 


24 


Phelps and His Teachers 


me to wage war against him. He seemed to want 
me to, and would do things to provoke trouble be- 
tween us. I wondered if it were because you had 
not understood him, and had punished him unwisely, 
or whether perhaps you or your wife — pardon me, 
I don’t mean any offense — might have ever said 
anything in his presence that would lessen his con- 
fidence in me. Many times in my experience I 
have had to overcome prejudice of parents before I 
could get the confidence of the pupils, and I assure 
you that it has been very hard sometimes. But in 
Phelps’ case he and I are now on a peace footing, 
and everything seems to be perfectly satisfactory* 
I anticipate no trouble at all.” 

Phelps’s papa thanked her heartily for the inter- 
est she had taken in his son, and assured her that 
she had his entire confidence, and that Phelps’ 
trouble began with his first school experience the 
year before, and not at home. The other insinua- 
tion that perhaps something had been said at home 
to lessen the child’s confidence in the teacher, 
Phelps’ papa let pass without comment. He had 
heard his wife make such comments, but he did 
not know whether Phelps heard them. 

The next week passed without a ripple of excite- 
ment in Phelps’ home. He went to school without 
being driven, and his mamma began to feel thank- 
ful. The first outward expression of affection 
Phelps showed for his new teacher was during his 
third week at school. His mamma was to have 
company for dinner one day, and had ordered a 


Phelps and His Teachers 


25 


bouquet of roses for the table, Phelps looked at 
them longingly in silence for some time. This, 
being a rather unusual thing for him to do, attracted 
his mamma’s attention. 

“What is it, Phelps?” she asked. 

He hung his head and seemed embarrassed; so to 
help him out, his mamma continued: 

“Those are beautiful roses, aren’t they, Phelps?” 

“Yes ma’am. I wish I had ’em.” 

“What for, Phelps? You can enjoy them with 
all of us just the same as if they were yours.” 

“Don’t care for ’em myself. Like to take ’em to 
the teacher. Other children take her things.” 

That day Phelps’ mamma had no roses on her 
table for dinner. Her heart was so full of joy over 
Phelp’s desire to do something for the teacher that 
she gave him the whole bunch, and dropped a tear 
among their beautiful petals. The recollection of 
his bitterness toward his teacher the year before, 
and all the sorrow it had caused her, made this first 
sign of affection an important matter. 

When Phelps gave his teacher the roses, she 
buried her handsome face among the buds and 
blossoms, and drank in their sweet perfume with 
delight. Then she kissed him with such warmth 
of affection that his little face glowed with the 
pleasure of it. All that day at school Phelps could 
see her fresh, sweet face smiling through creamy 
roses at him, and his heart filled with love, and a 
smile of contentment spread over his countenance. 

The year passed so quickly away that Phelps’ 


26 


Phelps and His Teachers 


mamma was surprised at its seemingly short dura- 
tion. Every week showed great improvement in 
Phelps’ disposition. He became easy to control, 
and seldom spoke in anger. He never failed to 
beg some little token, flower or fruit, from his 
mamma’s table to take to his teacher. 

Phelps’ mamma had only a passing acquaintance 
with Marie Anderson, and did not meet her during 
the year up to the last day of school, when she 
went with Phelps in the afternoon to attend the 
closing exercises. She felt embarrassed in meet- 
ing Miss Anderson because of the fact that she 
owed her a great debt of gratitude for the manner 
in which she had reclaimed her boy, and the further 
fact that she had said some unkind things about her 
to her friends. As the little boys and girls filed 
into the room that afternoon, Miss Anderson stood 
at the door smiling her greeting to them. Not a 
child failed to turn up his face to get the full glow 
of her smiling countenance. As they passed they 
would hand her some little love token — a flower, 
apple, marble, or anything that was valuable in the 
eye of the child. When they were all in, Miss 
Anderson’s desk was almost covered with these 
little signs of love. 

That day, when the school closed, Phelps’ 
mamma beheld a scene that surprised her greatly. 
Every child in the room crowded to the teacher 
without consent or request to kiss her good-by, and 
many of them cried at parting, and expressed sin- 
cere regret that they were promoted. Such was 


Phelps and His Teachers 


27 


the love Marie Anderson received from her pupils. 
Phelps’ mamma, with other mammas, witnessed 
all this, and most of them, no doubt, remembered 
some unkind thing they had said about her, and 
felt correspondingly small and ignoble. As the 
children filed out the superintendent came in and 
chatted with the visitors. This gave Miss Ander- 
son a momentary respite, and Phelps’ mamma saw 
her lean her flushed face in her hands and gaze 
affectionately on the pile of marbles, apples and 
flowers strewn over her desk, and saw a tear roll 
slowly down her cheek, and drop among a bunch 
of violets. She may have been wondering regret- 
fully how it could be possible that, after all the 
heart she gave to her work, so few people appre- 
ciated it — none, perhaps, but these dear, loving 
children who left her these offerings of love. Per- 
haps she was remembering some unkind words that 
had come to her from these very visitors, and was 
now fullhearted with the knowledge that they had 
been eye-witnesses to the great love and respect 
their own children had shown to her. 

As the superintendent left the room, Marie 
Anderson rose from her desk, and as she did so 
Phelps’ mamma approached her and gave her her 
hand, and as their eyes met they seemed to under- 
stand that everything was all right between them. 
They hesitated for a moment, and then Phelps’ 
mamma took her face between her hands and 
kissed her affectionately, and then to hide her 
emotions left the room. Another lady, affected by 


28 


Phelps and His Teachers 


the demonstration, also came up and kissed the 
teacher. Then followed the others, one after 
another, and when the last was gone Marie Ander- 
son’s victory was complete. She buried her face 
in her hands and wept with joy. It was worth a 
lifetime of toil — and ten years was nothing — to feel 
that at last the love that had been scattered broad- 
cast on the waters for so long was now coming in 
on a friendly tide. 

The rumor began to gain ground that Marie 
Anderson was a great teacher, and the marvel to 
the people was why they had not known it sooner. 
The trouble is we seldom know whom we have among 
us. Peo-ple are not always what they see^n. 




PHELPS IN THE THIRD GRADE 
III 

IS needless to say that 
Phelps was interested in 
his studies under the in- 
struction of Marie Ander- 
son while he was in the 
second grade. That he 
did well was implied in 
the fact that Marie Ander- 
son was intelligent and 
that Phelps loved her. So when the first day of 
school came around Miss Anderson was greatly 
surprised to find Phelps back in his old seat, 
instead of taking his place in Miss Noyes’ room. 
At a glance she took in the situation and her heart 
filled with pride and affection. She understood 
instantly the little heart pounding with excitement 
against a very neat waist that Phelps was wearing 
that day for the first time. She understood his 
excitement. And he knew full well that he didn’t 
belong in No. 2, but he reasoned that he might be 
able to carry the day if he looked innocent and at 
home. Miss Anderson casually strolled back to his 
seat and spoke to him. 




30 


Phelps and His Teachers 


“Good-morning, Phelps. How are you to-day, 
my boy?” 

“I am all right, thank you.” 

“Am glad you called to see me, Phelps, before 
you go to the other room. It was very nice of 
you.” 

Phelps’ countenance fell at this and he looked as 
if he would cry. 

“I am glad you came to me, first, Phelps, because 
I want to take you to Miss Noyes and tell her 
what a dear, good boy you are, so she will know 
about it at first.” 

Phelps was a proud-spirited lad and would not 
show that he was disappointed by saying so in 
words. 

“Come dear,” said Miss Anderson, “let us go 
and see how we like the looks of No. 3. My, it 
seems wonderful that you are learning so fast, and 
that you are now ready for No. 3. Why, it’s only 
a short time, it seems, since you came to me.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” said Phelps, a sad little smile 
playing around his mouth. 

Miss Anderson was leading him by the hand, and 
as they walked down the hall they talked. 

“Wish I could alius go to your room. Miss Ander- 
son,” said Phelps, helplessly, as she was opening 
the door to No. 3. She stooped and kissed him. 

“It’s all right, Phelps. I will see you every day, 
and it will be almost as if you were going to school 
to me; don’t you know it will, dear?” 


Phelps and His Teachers 


31 


“Yes ma’am,” and his little fingers clung to bers 
tighter than ever. 

“Miss Noyes,” said Miss Anderson, “here is one 
of my nicest little boys I am going to loan to you 
for a while. He is so far advanced I can’t teach 
him any more now, so you will have to help me.” 

“All right. Miss Anderson, we can do that all 
right. Can’t we, son? What’s his name — oh yes, 
Phelps. Yes, that’s a good name, son. Come 
right along now, Phelps, and let me seat you. 
Bless my heart! Where will I put you? Now 
really! Well let me see. Here, Phelps, we will 
put you here, son. There you are now — snug as 
a kitten.” 

All this was rattled off in a loud, coarse, good 
natured voice, apparently running on just to keep 
up a noise. 

At this period a lady appeared in the doorway 
with a little boy. 

“Ah, Mrs. Brown! Do come in. You have 
brought your dear son with you, haven’t you? 
That’s good. I am delighted to have him. Such 
a sweet child, too. Sit right down, Mrs. Brown, 
and I will seat your son. Come — oh yes — Charley. 
Come Charles, and I will let you take this seat.” 

As Mrs. Brown reflected over the situation she 
thought “how much nicer is Miss Noyes than that 
stuck-up Marie Anderson.” 

In the meantime Marie Anderson was quietly 
going among her little people, getting them in order 
and named. Her face seemed to draw each little 


32 


Phelps and His Teachers 


pair of eyes to her just as if they were so many 
plants turning their leaves to the sun. 

The parallel is, indeed, correct, for she gave to 
each child that which made him happy and con- 
tented and in a receptive mood. When the day 
closed Marie Anderson always felt that her energy 
was all gone. She had poured out so much heart — 
given off so much of that magnetic force that plays 
on nerves and invisible chords, that a long, solid 
sleep was necessary for recuperation. 

When Miss Noyes’ day’s work was ended her 
jaws and legs only were always tired. She talked 
so incessantly and so loudly that the teachers in all 
parts of the building could hear her behind closed 
doors. Now and then the superintendent would call 
on her, and would quietly slip into the room. He 
would begin in an undertone to talk to her. She 
would answer back so loudly he would always start, 
though he knew her failing along this line. 

When a class would assemble for recitation she 
was in her glory. She delighted to tramp up and 
down in front of them and talk. The patrons, as a 
rule, thought she was a wonderful teacher, because 
of her ability to use an endless stream of words. 
She belonged to the Woman’s Club and had been its 
secretary. She also belonged to the Rebekah 
Order of Odd Fellows, The Tribe of Ben Hur and 
several other organizations. In fact, she joined 
everything in sight, and always used every oppor- 
tunity to make a speech. She could tell a fairly 
good story, and make an average talk at any ordi- 


Phelps and His Teachers 


33 


gathering. She was always put on the pro- 
gram for all teachers’ meetings, because she was 
ready to respond, and there were so few who would. 

Thus it went abroad that Miss Noyes was a 
great teacher. 

She gave nothing of her heart to her school, nor 
did the school give any of its heart to her. The 
first few days of each year the children would flock 
to her desk hunting for affection and love, and Miss 
Noyes would make quite a demonstration, but 
somehow it wouldn’t last. In a very short time 
the children ceased to come to her. They felt 
what they could not see. 

But few people ever saw Miss Noyes angry. No 
matter what happened, she was always proud of 
herself. It may be she never saw the little things 
that worried other teachers, on account of having 
her attention centered in herself. Her school was 
very noisy, but by some means or other she man- 
aged to get the pupils over the work called for in 
the course of study, and passed a rowdy, mischie- 
vous crowd on to the fourth grade. 

One day not long after school began, Mrs. 
Brown met Phelps’ mamma on the street and 
exclaimed : 

“Oh, aren’t you glad we have such a lovely 
teacher this year for our children? I took Charles 
to school the first day and found Miss Noyes such 
a generous character. She made me feel at home 
— such an improvement over that stuck-up Marie 
Anderson.” 


34 


Phelps and His Teachers 


“Do you think so?” replied Phelps’ mamma. “I 
liked Miss Anderson very much. I only hope 
Miss Noyes will do as well with Phelps. He is 
not an easy lad to make war with.” 

“Oh, Miss Noyes is so jolly — she will get along 
with them.” 

A few days after this Phelps’ mamma visited the 
school. She was greeted at the door by Miss 
Noyes — her towsled hair standing out as the most 
conspicuous feature of her person. In fact, she 
presented quite a formidable appearance, though at 
a second glance it was quite apparent that she was 
simply ignorant and harmless. 

“Why, this is Phelps’ mamma, isn’t it? Do 
come right in now. Oh, Phelps is such a dear! 
Sit down in my chair. I am so glad you have 
called on me. It does me so much good.” 

Every teacher in the building knew Miss Noyes 
had a caller. They all had good hearing. 

Phelps’ mamma sat watching the movements of 
the teacher. They were interesting indeed. She 
stalked up and down the aisles like a mock queen 
on parade. Only she was serious about it. 

“What is it, Johnny.^” as a finger snapped in the 
rear of the room. 

“S-o-u-n-d-i-n-g,” the boy spelled out, labori- 
ously. 

“That spells soundings Johnny. It means to 
make a noise.” 

“Well, James, what is it?” 

“Where’s the readin’ lesson?” 


Phelps and His Teachers 


35 


“I told you to take the next lesson, James. You 
must not forget. Now get to work.” 

“All ready now, A class for reading. One! — 
two! — three!” and they tramped to class like a lot 
of cattle breaking into a cornfield, each crowding 
for the best positions. Then as they crowded in 
line they swayed back and forth, looking at their 
toes, trying to get lined up straight. 

“All ready now. Begin !” exclaimed Miss Noyes, 
dramatically. 

“Page 72, Lesson XIV, Don’t Kill the Birds.” 
Thus the boy at the head of the class began and in 
a sing-song manner he read the first verse of the 
poem. 

“Next,” exclaimed the teacher, and so on through 
the lesson. Then they spelled the words. 

“Class is dismissed,” and they broke ranks and 
fled to their seats. 

Miss Noyes enjoyed the bustle and confusion. 
She liked to hear the tramp of feet, the beating of 
drums, and similar things. 

As said before, she seldom grew angry, but now 
and then she would get out of patience and speak 
up sharply, and at such times she was most unlov- 
able. So it came about in the course of the first 
fall months of school that she was destined to open 
up an old wound and bring on trouble for all con- 
cerned. Phelps had gone along smoothly enough, 
though it was apparent to his mamma that he did 
not love his teacher. He had often tried to but had 
never found any response. Of course Phelps did 


36 


Phelps and His Teachers 


not know what the trouble was, nor did he bother 
his mind with it. But one day he found a combina- 
tion in his number work on which he thought he 
needed help, so he went to Miss Noyes and asked 
her to show him how to do it. Miss Noyes at that 
moment was thinking out a speech she wanted to 
make that very night at the lodge meeting of the 
“Lady Highlanders,” and had arrived at a very 
critical point when Phelps ran in his sordid ques- 
tions about numbers. It was a provoking matter 
in the extreme. So in a sharp tone she said, 

“Why you can do that — you understand that!” 

“No ma’am, I don’t.” 

“You do too, I tell you. You can do that if you 
want to.” 

“I can’t do it, either, if I want to,” retorted 
Phelps, now thoroughly angered. 

“Phelps,” she exclaimed loudly, “aren’t you 
ashamed of yourself, sir? Go right to your seat at 
once.” 

Now a strange fatality happened — one of those 
happenings that often result from short-sightedness 
or lack of observation. 

Phelps’ first teacher, ignorant and selfish as she 
was, had learned early in Phelps’ career that he 
had a nervous affection which, when angered, 
caused the muscles of his face to twitch in a very 
conspicuous manner. 

Marie Anderson knew of it within an hour after 
she saw him the first time. But Miss Noyes, 
always absorbed in herself, never saw it until this 


Phelps and His Teachers 


37 


eventful day. It was not very noticeable except 
when he was angered. So this day when Miss 
Noyes ordered him to his seat in such harsh terms, 
he was so aroused that his face drew into all sorts 
of contortions, so that even Miss Noyes could not 
fail to see it. Every child in school knew of his 
affliction and was so used to it they paid no attention 
to ordinary expressions. 

When Miss Noyes saw it she immediately arrived 
at the conclusion that he was “making faces” at her, 
so she jumped up, jerked him out of his seat, and 
without further questioning, took him into the cloak- 
room and whipped him. The first impression the 
principal had of the trouble was a terrible thought 
that a horse had fallen into the basement and was 
struggling up the stairs. Later, however, she was 
appealed to for sympathy, as Phelps had tried to 
defend himself with teeth and nails, leaving several 
painful marks on Miss Noyes’ hands. 

That night Phelps couldn’t eat any supper, but 
he said nothing about his trouble at school. When 
he went to bed his mamma forgot about his unusual 
appearance at supper, amid other family cares, 
until her own bedtime arrived. Then, as was her 
custom, she went into his bedroom to tuck him in 
nicely for the night and to kiss him. She found 
him wide-awake with the cover all tossed about. 

“What is it, dear.^” she said softly and sooth- 
ingly as she sat on the bed and drew him up to her. 
“Why are you not asleep?” 

The tender, loving sympathy that only a mother 


38 


Phelps and His Teachers 


can give opened up his little heart to her, and 
between his sobs he told how he had been whipped, 
and how he fought, bit and scratched the teacher. 

“But what did you do, Phelps? Tell your 
mamma everything. What did you do to make 
her whip you? 

“Oh, I don’t know, mamma; I only asked her to 
help me with my numbers. She got cross about 
it, and it made me cross, and after I got to my seat 
she came and jerked me out and dragged me into 
the cloak-room and began beating me. Oh, I could 
kill her! I just hate her!” and he fairly trembled 
with anger at the outrage. 

His mamma, almost heart-broken over it, man- 
aged to get everything from him that had passed 
between them, and yet she was greatly at loss to 
know what he could have done, besides, that war- 
ranted such an attack. 

The next morning Phelps’ mamma called on 
Miss Noyes at her boarding house, and without 
loss of time proceeded to the point. 

“Miss Noyes, you have done a very unwise 
thing in whipping my boy, no matter what may be 
the reason you have for it. He is not to be con- 
trolled that way. But I came especially to know 
why you whipped him. I can’t find anything from 
his account of it to warrant your act.^” 

“You can’t,” shouted Miss Noyes in her nat- 
ural and sauve tone. “He didn’t tell you then that 
he made horrible faces at me?” 

Phelps’ mamma sank back in her chair as the 


Phelps and His Teachers 


39 


thought dawned on her, and just gazed at Miss 
Noyes, and marvelled at her lack of sense and 
observation. 

“My God!” she exclaimed at length, in agony. 
“Can it be possible that you have had that boy two 
months under your eye and have failed to see that 
he is afflicted with a nervous twitching of the 
muscles of his face? Can it be possible, Miss 
Noyes, that you have been so blind and so cruel to 
him? How can you ever see him again without 
your face burning with the shame of it?” 

*‘A nervous affliction? What do you mean?” 
shouted Miss Noyes again. 

“Just what I said. When you angered him with 
your talk about the problem, it provoked his afflic- 
tion and made the muscles of his face draw it all 
out of shape.” 

Miss Noyes was nonplussed. She was not at 
heart brutal. She was only selfish and ignorant. 
It hurt her pride to meet that refined, deep-feeling 
woman and have her prove to her face that she 
had outraged a child without cause, simply because 
she was not able to see and understand a thing that 
every child in school understood. 

“Can it be possible?” she said at last in a broken 
tone of voice, 

“I am so sorry. Miss Noyes. If you only knew 
what a time of sorrow and trouble I had the first 
year he was in school, you could appreciate my 
state of mind. He cannot be managed by brute 
force. He only responds to love and justice. Last 


40 


Phelps and His Teachers 


year he never caused me a moment’s trouble. He 
loved Marie Anderson, and as a result he grew 
gentle and sweet-tempered under her teaching. I 
would almost as soon see him dead and buried as to 
have him develop as he did the first year — into an ill- 
tempered, revengeful boy. If you could only win 
him back to you. Miss Noyes! if you could only 
love him and keep him growing better, I could 
willingly sacrifice my life to you — anything — every- 
thing — that he may grow to be a real man — not a 
things deformed and detested. If you only could. 
Miss Noyes! Can’t you? Can’t you? Won’t 
you try to do it?” 

There was something so noble, yet so pathetic, in 
her pleading that Miss Noyes, bowed down with 
shame and regret, burst into tears, and said, 

“I will, oh I will! I will do my best. I have 
done a terrible thing. I promise you to win back 
his respect and love!” 

That morning Miss Noyes stood behind her desk 
subdued and silent, with sad eyes. The pupils filed 
into their places with comparative silence. Such a 
scene had never been known before in her room. 
There was something strange and breathing of 
expectancy in the air. Each little face was turned 
to her in wonderment. What could it all mean? 

Finally when all were settled quietly in their 
places, she began to speak gently in a trembling 
voice. 

“Children, I did a terrible thing yesterday. 
Phelps asked me for help — I was cross with him. 


Phelps and His Teachers 


41 


I punished him because I thought he made faces at 
me. I have since found I was wrong, that he didn’t 
do it. I hope Phelps will — will forgive — forgive 
me.” 

She sat down and buried her face in her hands. 
Several girls cried out of sympathy. The whole 
school was saddened and chastened by this noble 
example. At recess many little arms incidentally 
found their way around Miss Noyes’ neck and 
waist. She was surprised that there was a response 
in the whole school, and the children seemed to love 
her better because of the sacrifice of false pride she 
had made in her public acknowledgment of a 
wrong done in public. 

Phelps showed that he had forgiven her by his 
actions, but it was several days before he ever 
approached her on intimate terms, but when he 
did — Oh, the glory of that day — Miss Noyes 
rejoiced as she never had before. She had at last 
won back his respect, and her influence over him 
was for the good. She had paid back in part the 
debt she had owed him and his mother, and the 
paying was such a pleasure! Long before she even 
thought she had wiped out the account, she had 
formed new ideas on the subject of teaching, and 
the old ones had gradually slipped away from her, 
and seemed dead things. 

She now studied each child individually, and as a 
result of it her work became effective, and she 
found so many things to love. She forgot to attend 
several lodge meetings and other public affairs on 


42 


Phelps and His Teachers 


which she was accustomed to spend so much time 
and energy. 

Thus she grew nearer to the truth — nearer to the 
ideal. A great blunder had broken her false pride — 
opened her eyes, and softened her life. 

It sometimes requires a great sorrow — a sharp 
blow — a deep thrust — a cutting remark — or some- 
thing terrible to happen to us, before we can muster 
strength sufficient to break away from bad habits 
or methods. 

Phelps’ mamma had opened a door into a beauti- 
ful chamber in Miss Noyes’ heart, and after that 
the little children could easily find their way into it, 
where love and sympathy were always to be 
found. It was like a stream that had its source up 
among the crags and peaks, and babbled along 
among scenes cold and drear, over a tableland, and 
on down into a desert to the west of the mountain 
where it was drunk up by the hungry sands. It 
had run along this way for countless ages, as its 
dried-up bed attests, until one day a great land- 
slide occurred on the tableland and blocked up the 
gorge through which the stream flowed, and it 
turned its course to the east. It made a new bed 
for itself, and this way lay down green slopes 
where large pine trees whispered to it, and where 
mountain flowers sprang up by its side and nodded 
in the wind; on down through the little meadows 
where the wild grass and willows grew in pro- 
fusion along its banks — where the birds would 
come and take their baths in its crystal waters. 


Phelps and His Teachers 


43 


and wild animals would quench their thirst. Thus 
it babbled on through a country full of delight and 
love and life to be swallowed up by the sea, 
where it still sparkled and danced and was kissed 
by the sun. 




PHELPS IN THE FOURTH GRADE 
IV 



EFORE Phelps left the 
third grade — probably two 
months or more, as near as 
her superintendent could 
remember it — Miss Noyes, 
his teacher, scored a great 
success. It is worthy of 
note here, because it shows 
us that in the most hope- 
less looking cases there is a possibility of reforma- 
tion. 

Miss Noyes belonged to a familiar type of teach- 
ers that may be found in most any small city of 
from a thousand to five or ten thousand people. 
They hold their places in the schools not by their 
skill as teachers, but by their skill in making people 
believe they are teachers. They are clever politi- 
cians, and that necessarily means a lack of sin- 
cerity. 

In Miss Noyes’ case there had been two or three 
efforts in the last fifteen years of her work in the 
schools to drop her from the pay-roll. These move- 
ments were always begun by new superintendents 




Phelps and His Teachers 


45 


in the office who were unacquainted with the 
situation, and all had ended disastrously. They, 
each in their turn, dropped the matter as gracefully 
as possible as soon as they found most of the lead- 
ing men, both on and off the board, were bitterly 
opposed to the proposition. There were always 
two or three intimate friends of hers on the board 
who boldly defended her at every step. 

This was the state of affairs when Miss Noyes 
had her great trouble with Phelps. Her superin- 
tendent at that time, having come into office at the 
first of the year, had been feeling his way to have 
the board dismiss her at the end of the term. 
Toward that end he had interviewed two or three 
members of the board on the subject. The news 
was carried to Miss Noyes by her secret agents 
that very night, but, strange to say, she remained 
silent and thoughtful. On similar occasions in the 
past she issued her orders to her agents (her 
friends) and a neat little by-play that no one ever 
saw or understood who was not into the secret of 
the movement, would take place, and as a result the 
superintendent would find himself perfectly help- 
less to rid himself and the schools of her service. 
This usually sufficed to keep him still for as long a 
time as he could hold his position as superintend- 
ent. But on the night this harsh bit of news 
reached her she was still subdued and saddened 
by her experience with Phelps. In fact, she had 
tried hard for a whole month to appreciate the 
children — understand their thoughts — feel with 


46 


Phelps and His Teachers 


them all that passed. She had done her level best 
to be honest — poured out her soul to them, and 
though she often failed to do the right thing, the 
children did not seem to mind it, because they felt 
that she was sincere. So when her informant and 
old friend gave her the news of the superintendent’s 
effort to have her removed, she simply gazed out of 
the window, where the frogs were croaking and 
the soft springtime breezes played among the burst- 
ing buds. 

Her face was sad, and most any other type of 
woman would have cried out of pity for herself, 
but Miss Noyes did not show her grief that way. 
She was a strong woman and determined enough, 
as everybody knew who ever crossed her path, 
yet she was clever only to those unsophisticated 
people who are not able to read an ordinary char- 
acter. 

So as she stood there her friend looked at her in 
surprise. 

“What?” she said. “Aren’t you going to do 
anything to counteract his efforts?” 

“No, my dear, I am going to quit that sort of 
campaigning. It is a new thought to me, but 
lately it has been borne in on my mind that no true 
teacher should have to scheme and fight in order to 
hold her place in the schools. I have begun to see 
all this veiy clearly, and as I see it I am seized 
with a great desire to master the situation along 
the true lines of advancement. I am going to con- 
vince the superintendent that I am worthy of my 


Phelps and His Teachers 


47 


place before these two months close, or I shall not 
apply for my position next year.” 

The next day after school closed she walked into 
the superintendent’s office and greeted him cordi- 
ally. He was plainly nervous — the feeling that he 
had been trying to get her removed without her 
knowledge of it made him just a little ashamed of him- 
self; however, he was soon relieved to find that she 
showed no knowledge of this, but was deeply inter- 
ested in certain work she was planning in her 
room, and on which she wanted his advice. She 
was so sincere about it, he began to wonder. He 
had never noticed her display such an interest 
before. He noticed for the first time certain lines 
in her face that showed a new thought, a new aim 
had come into her heart. 

The result of her visit was to bring the superin- 
tendent to her room the next day to help her with 
the work she had planned. He had not been there 
for three weeks — purposely avoided her. To-day 
he sat down and gave his attention to what he saw 
there before him. It was bad enough, in a way, 
from his point of view, because he was a man who 
believed everything should be done by rule and on 
time. He was a great disciplinarian. The pupils 
must march in perfect time — sit in perfect form in a 
certain given attitude, etc. So Miss Noyes’ school 
was an eyesore from that point of view. Pupils 
were sprawled about in most any form, but being a 
man of discernment, he saw that the school had 
forgotten his presence in a few minutes in its 


48 


Phelps and His Teachers 


absorption in the work before it. He saw that 
Miss Noyes stood quietly behind her desk, and 
walked as quietly as she could among her pupils. 
Her face was lit up with interest and anxiety. 
Once in a while she would get noisy, out of force 
of habit, but it was apparent that the grand stand 
play had had its day, and was being relegated to 
the rear. She could not work by rule nor make a 
machine out of her school, but she could interest 
the pupils. This was all clearly apparent. He 
looked at the work the pupils were doing, and 
found it was good — as good as any. She was get- 
ting results. She scanned every face, and seemed 
to make a mental effort to see the thought back of 
it. Her whole force of mind and body, and she 
had much of both, was now thrown into her work. 
Heretofore she had used this force playing to the 
grand stand, and depended on popular opinion to 
keep her in her place. She had learned by the 
Phelps affair that this habit was a dangerous one, 
and led over many reefs. From day to day, since 
the scene with Phelps’ mamma, she had poured out 
her soul to the school, and a blind man could have 
detected that a great change had come over it. It 
had become softened, sweetened and happier. 

As the superintendent sat there he began to 
experience a change in his feelings. At first he 
had to overcome his prejudice, but when that was 
done he quickly got into sympathy with the sin- 
cere, though not perfect, work of the teacher. He 
began to feel the spirit that pervaded the room, and 


Phelps and His Teachers 


49 


realize that he had done her a great injustice; so 
much did he feel it that he was anxious to get out so 
he could go to those members of the board he had 
spoken to and tell them he was wrong in his esti- 
mate of her. He went up to Miss Noyes and 
excused himself — he must go. She looked frankly 
and inquiringly into his face, and he seemed to 
understand. He took her hand hurriedly at the 
door and said, with feeling: 

“I have done you a great injustice, Miss Noyes. 
Your work is very good — much better than I could 
even have hoped for yesterday. I didn’t know — I 
didn’t understand you as I do now.” 

And he hadn’t either. As he hurried away, 
innocent of the cause of all the change that had 
come over Miss Noyes, and ignorant of the fact 
that she knew the steps he had taken to have her 
removed, she turned to the window and gazed 
wistfully after him and said to herself: 

“No, you don’t understand, but you are beginning 
to — you are beginning to see what I feel. Thank 
God for it!” 

She went on with her work feeling jubilant over 
the prospect of holding her position for the first 
time in her life on real merit. It’s a great, joyful 
feeling to one who experiences it for the first time 
in a life somewhat stormy and eventful. 

The two months closed with satisfaction to all. 
Miss Noyes took to No. 4 that year the most 
orderly and enthusiastic class it had ever been her 
good fortune to pass up. She went up with them 


4 


50 


Phelps and His Teachers 


the first day of school and they filed into the room 
together, she as proud of them as one could well 
be. 

Miss Jane Adams, who taught the fourth grade, 
greeted them cordially, and Miss Noyes introduced 
her to the school. Miss Adams was a sweet-tem- 
pered lady, whose life was regulated by rule. She 
was as exact as a clock. It had been impressed 
upon her for years by a long line of superintendents 
that a military discipline was essential. Within a 
month from the day Miss Adams received the 
pupils from No. 3, she had them marking time and 
moving in unison to such perfection, it was a mar- 
vel to all those who saw them. Few realized that 
most of the thought and energy of the child was 
used up keeping time and place with the class. 
Looking down the aisle you could see a line of 
heads, a line of elbows, a line of toes, a line of hands. 
In fact, the school was always in line. If you 
looked more closely you would see now and then a 
boy or girl relax for a moment from the attitude of 
attention, to be hauled up into place again by the 
eye of the teacher. Miss Adams was saturated 
with all this sort of thing, but through it all she was 
sweet and patient. She was a lovable woman, and 
could get anything she asked for from her pupils. 
This awful disciplining may Jiave done good, but it 
cannot be denied that it also did much harm. 

The order of dismissal was a model of discipline, 
and Miss Adams’ pupils surpassed all others. She 
stood at the foot of the stairs to mark time for them 


Phelps and His Teachers 


51 

as they came down the steps and passed down and 
out on to the front walk. It was a source of great 
pride to her. She always felt in her innermost con- 
science that her school excelled all others in its 
manner of entrance and exit. But far be it from 
her to even hint such a thing to the other teachers. 

One day as Phelps was coming out with the line 
he thought he had another step to take on the stairs, 
when in fact he was down. This made him stumble 
out of line, much to Miss Adams’ humiliation. So 
great was her annoyance it was not certain that she 
had not lost control of her temper. Phelps righted 
himself and went on without any knowledge of 
Miss Adams’ annoyance. He had been too long in 
Miss Noyes’ room and not long enough in Miss 
Adams’ room to feel the far-reaching importance of 
marking time in a proper manner. 

But Phelps loved Miss Adams very much. 
Every look and action indicated that. The years 
he had been in school had given him an opportunity 
to see her daily at the foot of the stairs, and he had 
formed his opinion of her long before he was pro- 
moted. He never failed to look to her for her 
smile every time he passed the year he was in No. 
3. If she didn’t see him in the line he managed to 
dodge around outside until he caught her eye, then 
romped off home happy. There were others, too, 
that hungered for Miss Adams’ smiles. 

A few days after Phelps stumbled on the stairs 
he did a most extraordinary and scandalous thing. 
He had passed without his customary good-night 


52 


Phelps and His Teachers 


smile, because Miss Adams was busy talking to 
some one else. He and another little boy ran on an 
errand for his mamma which took him across the 
street. In passing back he saw the last of the line 
from the upper grades coming out, and Miss Adams 
still stood talking with her friend. Phelps thought 
to get his good-night smile and greeting, so he and 
his companion went romping down the walk to the 
door, and thundered into the vestibule. He poked 
his head in the door and called out: “Good-night, 
Miss Adams,” and seeing her disapproving counte- 
nance he dodged back and they ran away. 

Miss Adams was angry, unbecoming to her 
as it was. She was disgraced in the eyes of 
her friend. Think of such a scandalous act as 
romping like cattle into the hall! Can’t you see 
how humiliated a precise woman of her type would 
be under such circumstances? Seriously, it proved 
to be a sad case, for Miss Adams indignantly, yet 
very politely, sent a formal note to the principal 
asking that the boy should be whipped. It was 
the rule that year that before a child could be 
whipped the principal must first give permission. 
So when the demand was made, permission was 
promptly granted, but on second thought the prin- 
cipal remembered that Phelps’ mamma had notified 
her that when Phelps needed serious correction her 
attention should first be called to it. 

Miss Jane Adams was no coward. Her convic- 
tions were deep and strong, and when she felt a 
thing was right she went straight ahead. She was 


Phelps and His Teachers 


S3 


a brave, noble woman, but in this particular case it 
will be seen she had erred in judgment. 

She went straight as she could go to see Phelps’ 
parents, and it so happened that it was papa instead 
of mamma she met. She came to the subject at 
once — laid the matter before Mr. Graham, telling 
him how hard she had struggled to get the children 
to walk well and keep in order, and each time it 
seemed that Phelps would do something to mar 
the beauty and order of the line. It was simply 
ter-ri~hle, “I have been notified,” she went on, 
“that in order to punish Phelps I must come and 
get your permission. I feel that he must be 
whipped.” 

Visions of the war between Phelps and his first 
teacher came before Mr. Graham’s mind’s eye at 
this statement, and he grew almost angry with 
gentle Miss Adams. 

“I suppose,” he replied, “that a child’s mind is of 
no importance, and that lining up and making a 
pretty display is everything. I want you to know. 
Miss Adams, that I believe in order, time and 
place for everything. I want my boy to do the 
best he can to produce those conditions, but it does 
not occur to me now that you ought to overshadow 
the object of the public schools by attaching so 
much importance to how a child walks or sits — so 
much so that you make him uncomfortable, thus 
detracting from his mental effort. I suppose, of 
course, the reason for your adopting such a strenuous 


54 


Phelps and His Teachers 


method is that you assume the boy did what he 
did maliciously, to annoy you?” 

“Oh, no, Mr. Graham, I do not think he did it 
maliciously, but he is so careless — he won’t think or 
try to be careful, and I just must have him under- 
stand that he must think before he acts, and then 
act carefully.” 

Poor Miss Adams had not once thought of 
the possibility that she was not thinking very 
deeply on all sides of this important subject. She 
could see the carelessness of the child, and to her 
precise mind there was absolutely no excuse for it. 

“You may be right,” replied Mr. Graham, “in 
your position on this subject. Miss Adams, but now 
tell me what will be the result of your whipping 
him should I give you permission? What will he 
think about it? How will he feel toward you? 
Will it make him love you more, or will it make 
him hate you? What do you know about the 
boy’s temperament? Is he revengeful, obstinate, 
vindictive and easily aroused, or is he humble, timid 
and likely to be frightened with the whip? Do you 
think he would cry out with pain when you begin 
to beat him, or would he stand with clenched teeth 
cursing you in his heart? Do you think the club is 
a good educator? Are you not a member of the 
Humane society, and have you not helped to prose- 
cute the brutes on the streets for beating other 
brutes over whom they had control? Was it not 
revolting to your refined sense to see these cruelties 
practiced on helpless creatures? Do you think you 


Phelps and His Teachers 


55 


have control over the very life and nature of the 
child? Do you feel that you own it — that you may 
beat it whenever its own nature leads it to conflict 
with your man-made ideas of decorum? Do you 
want to whip a child because he stumbles physi- 
cally when we, men and women, stumble in our 
thoughts and judgment of things every day? Do 
>? 

“Oh, Mr. Graham, do have mercy on me! You 
horrify me with your presentation. I thought the 
boy ought to be punished. Please examine him 
and see what defense he can make for such 
actions.” 

Miss Adams sat there trembling with excitement 
and fear lest she had made a mistake. Her sensi- 
tive nature was horrified with the thought that she 
might be as cruel and heartless as the men on the 
street she had seen beat their horses. 

Phelps did not know Miss Adams was there, so 
his father called him into another room, in order 
that Miss Adams could hear all that passed between 
them. 

“Well, Phelps, my boy, how did you get along 
at school to-day?” 

“Fine, papa! I tell you we have the teacher all 
right. You know, papa. Miss Adams is just as 
good as she can be. I alius think she is most as 
good as mamma is, and may be she will kiss me 
some day like mamma does when she knows me as 
Miss Anderson does. Miss Anderson alius did. 
But you know, I think I must have hurt her feel- 


56 


Phelps and His Teachers 


ings to-night, ’cause when I run into the hall to tell 
her good-bye — I didn’t get her to see me as I 
passed out in the line — she looked at me and didn’t 
smile. Guess she may have been thinking of some- 
thing else. Teachers can’t alius be thinkin’ of boys, 
can they papa?” 

“That’s a fact, Phelps,” assented his 'papa. “They 
have much to trouble them, and you must always 
do your best to keep time and not stumble or make 
a noise in the house. I imagine Miss Adams likes 
boys best who are quiet and orderly.” 

“Yes, papa, I am sure she does, and I am goin’ 
to try to be ever so quiet. But you know I jist get 
so I want to break and run and jump and holler. 
Sometimes I jist feel like I will bust tryin’ to keep 
still. It’s awful hard, papa, to sit up straight and 
look straight, and do jist right. You know, papa, 
I wish we could do at school like you do at your 
office. When I see you settin’ there with your 
feet on the desk, smokin’, on Saturdays, it jist 
makes me wish school was like that. Say, papa, 
let’s you and me play school some day like that. 
Wouldn’t it be fun, though?” 

“I fear we wouldn’t learn much, Phelps, without 
a teacher. We would get to telling stories and 
laughing away our time.” 

“Oh, but wouldn’t it be fun, though? I’ll tell 
you, papa, we could get Miss Adams to come 
down, may be, and she’d be a lovely teacher. 
Then she’d help us tell stories, too. She tells us 


Phelps and His Teachers 


57 


the nicest stories about boys. Don’t you wish she 
would come, papa?” 

“Yes; I think we would have a pleasant time 
together. But I have some work to do now, 
Phelps, so you may run out and play.” 

“Pd rather talk with you, papa, if you wasn’t 
goin’ to be busy.” 

“We will talk later, son, when I am through 
with my work. Run along now” — and Miss Adams 
heard the boy kiss his papa and romp out at the back 
door — heard him laughing and talking with his 
mamma in the back-yard — and her heart was beat- 
ing fast. A red spot shone on each cheek, and she 
felt as if she had been dragged back from a preci- 
pice, over which she would have fallen in another 
instant. A curtain had been drawn aside, and she 
had looked on a beautiful scene of home life. She 
had seen a big, strong, bearded man, who smoked 
strong cigars and practiced law in a dirty court- 
room — had learned that he sat with his feet elevated 
on his desk, and had no particular manners so far 
as she could see; yet she had seen this boy pour 
out his innermost thoughts to him, just as if he were 
never in his life rebuked — just as if he expected 
sympathy for his plans and desires — just as if his 
papa were his playmate. And she heard him sing 
her praises — had even heard him hope that she 
would one day love him enough to kiss him as his 
mamma did. 

So this was the boy she had come for permission 
to beat, to brutalize! She felt it all — the keenness 


58 


Phelps and His Teachers 


of her senses, the beauty of her life and thought — 
her love for everything that was good and refined 
— all conspired to make her wretched, wretched 
beyond the conception of ordinary mortals. She 
was almost speechless when Mr. Graham came 
back to her. She tried to speak, but broke off 
with : “Can I ever — ever — forgive myself for such 
carelessness?” She grasped the hand he offered 
her in parting, and hurried from the room. 

“Oh, what must he think of me?” she gasped, as 
she hurried along. “Why did I not think; why 
was I so wrapped up in such little contemptible 
things as how a child walks or sits? They seem 
so small to me now. Oh, to think if I had whipped 
him, poor little fellow, loving me so, and hunger- 
ing for me to kiss him. Oh, God!” she cried in 
agony of spirit, “give me light that I may see!” 
The buildings had become dim shadows, and the 
sidewalk a blurred line, as she hurried on in the 
coming night with a heart heavy as stone. 

But later a light appeared, and it came from an 
invisible source down deep in her soul, where it 
was not disturbed by passing breezes, and her 
heart cry, “Give me light that I may see,” had 
been answered. 



PHELPS IN THE FIFTH GRADE 

V 

ISS Adeline Yerkes began 
teaching in the fifth grade 
the next fall after Phelps 
finished his work in the 
fourth grade. Her father 
was a strong politician 
and a man of considera- 
ble prominence in the 
town. Miss Yerkes pos- 
sessed many of her father’s good qualities, and just 
as many of his bad ones. Phelps had never seen 
her until that first day when he and his foster sister, 
Ellen, saw her standing in the door smiling a wel- 
come to them. She was tall, dark and good-look- 
ing. In her face was much warmth of feeling, and 
her mouth indicated considerable strength of char- 
acter; but to the discerning it ^vas apparent that 
her mouth had long since become accustomed to 
an expression of anger at intervals far too frequent. 

But this first morning as she stood smiling to the 
children, the casual observer would have failed to 
find a single line of her face not suited to a beauti- 




6o 


Phelps and His Teachers 


ful character. Who is it that does not feel kindly 
toward a bright, handsome woman when she is at 
her best, full of gladness and welcome — beaming 
with enthusiasm? No one, I should say, and the 
pity is that teachers are not always thus. 

So Miss Yerkes made a splendid showing for 
herself that day. Many parents were informed 
that night by their children that a lovely teacher 
presided over the fifth grade. For the first few 
days the girls crowded around her looking at her 
new gown, and taking a complete inventory of her 
apparel. The boys cast many a kindly and admir- 
ing look at her. It did seem as if they were going 
to love her en masse, and perhaps they might have 
succeeded in doing so if they had not been so very 
human, and called down upon their heads a retribu- 
tion for their faults. Each day Miss Yerkes found 
that her troubles were increasing. She was young 
and not used to the whims of the children. They 
annoyed her with questions and poor lessons. As 
long as the work was new and the faults of her 
pupils unknown to her she could smile. But day 
by day she learned that this boy would lie — that one 
would steal, another would swear. The girls would 
tattle, and quarrel, and do no end of annoying 
things. All these things she noted with contempt, 
and a sneer would take the place of her smile. The 
good qualities in the children were lost to her. 
The children she liked — the good children from 
good homes, especially those who had good les- 
sons — she always smiled to, and they loved her. 


Phelps and His Teachers 6i 

As the days went by she contracted the habit of 
scolding and looking ugly. At times her eyes 
would flash with pent-up anger, and she would 
bite her lips to keep from doing her worst. 

It was probably two weeks before she finally 
broke over all restraint and tongue-lashed a class 
of pupils of which Phelps was a member. One 
little sensitive girl in the class cried. Phelps had 
another attack of nervousness, and his face twitched 
itself out of shape. She had gone over a certain 
lesson with them several times and they couldn’t 
get it. She had abused them roundly for their lack 
of interest and attention. She laid down the propo- 
sition to them again, slowly and distinctly. Then 
she ordered Phelps to recite it. There he sat, 
gazing moodily out of the window, his face still 
twitching from excitement. After all her pains to 
make the matter clear she found this boy not even 
listening to her. Her anger was renewed, and this 
time she reinforced it by taking Phelps by the arm 
and jerking him out of his seat. She shook him 
good and knocked him against the wall, his head 
striking the door casing with considerable force. 
The children were so unnerved by this outrageous 
performance that few, if any, were able to apply 
themselves to their task. Her uncontrollable pas- 
sion frightened all the pupils, and her red and re- 
pulsive face shocked many of the more sensitive. 
This incident may seem to many rather unnatural — 
that a teacher would be a fool to do such a thing 
for such a small cause. But it is nevertheless lit- 


62 


Phelps and His Teachers 


erally true, and every day, everywhere, teachers 
lose control of themselves and show anger in the 
presence of their pupils over trifling matters. It is 
too common and too true for any one acquainted 
with the profession to dispute. 

The injustice of Phelps’ punishment was ap- 
parent to every child in the school, and to Phelps it 
was very little short of murder. Sensitive in the 
extreme, he suffered as few can realize with the 
shame and disgrace of it. Miss Yerkes lost a 
great deal that day, and so did the children. 

The next few days Miss Yerkes smiled and 
smiled, but it did not quite cover up her outrageous 
act. The memory of it lingered with the children 
for a week, and before it was fairly gone there 
was another outbreak — not so bad as the first, but 
bad enough. When angry she was repulsive- 
looking, and a sneer would take the place of a sweet 
expression that hovered around her mouth when 
she was in good humor. If we could but know 
how repulsive and hideous anger is we would al- 
ways go away and hide from the face of man when 
we feel it coming on. 

Phelps was now quite a boy, and he had been 
batted about sufficiently to make him somewhat in- 
dependent. He was at the point where boys cease 
to confide all their troubles to their mammas. So 
he did not tell his story when he went home that 
night, and in order to make sure his mamma 
wouldn’t get it he pledged his sister, Ellen, who 
was just his age and in his class at school, not to 


Phelps and His Teachers 


63 


tell. Ellen was a sympathetic little girl, and she 
somewhat took the place of his mamma. 

As they went home that day Ellen came softly 
up to his side and walked with him in silence. By 
and by she got hold of his hand and swung it back 
and forth, and with much ado about nothing tried 
to get him to laugh. But he smiled not at all and 
they went on, lapsing again into silence. 

“Did it hurt you, Phelps?” she asked at length, 
tenderly. 

“Yes,” he mumbled, and the tears welled up and 
trickled down his face. 

“Does it hurt you yet, Phelps?” 

He nodded his head without speaking. 

“Where does it hurt you?” 

“In here,” pointing to his breast. 

It was his pride, his manhood, that was hurt, but 
he didn’t know, nor did she, what it was. Per- 
haps they thought the shaking he got had broken 
something in his breast — a bone may be. It is not 
supposed that they should know that it was his 
heart that was hurt. 

The point of interest is, however, the result of it 
all. From that day on Phelps gradually grew fur- 
tive and sly. The teacher noticed this and began 
to bear down on him harder in a senseless effort to 
crush him — conquer his spirit — make a menial — a 
slave — of him. Not that she meant to do all this — 
her only aim was order. If they would only keep 
still and recite well she cared for nothing more. 
She did not understand childlife, nor had she ever 


64 


Phelps and His Teachers 


been told that her method would cultivate an evil 
disposition in the child. 

It got to such a point before the year closed that 
it was apparent that Phelps could not be promoted 
unless he greatly improved in his work. No one 
seemed to know why this state of affairs should 
exist, as Phelps had always been considered a 
bright boy. But it all came out when Phelps’ 
mamma got a note from the teacher, Miss Yerkes, 
informing her that Phelps would have to do special 
work at home or he would not be promoted. She 
took the matter up with Phelps that night, and 
arranged for him to bring home his books the next 
afternoon so she could help him. 

When she began the lesson with him the next 
day, she discovered that he seemed to be confused 
and nervous. When she would ask him a question 
he seemed not to be thinking for an answer to it, 
but would sit expecting to be scolded for not being 
able to answer it. In short, he sat like some poor, 
dumb, helpless thing dodging the blows from a 
near-by enemy. 

His mamma gathered from all these symptoms 
that in the beginning the teacher had asked him a 
question he couldn’t answer, and showed impatience 
at his seeming dullness. Later she had asked 
another, and the boy’s mind instantly recalled the 
former scene, and he would be seized with fear lest 
he couldrCt answer, thus destroying his power to 
concentrate his thought on the subject under dis- 
cussion. So the matter had drifted on from week 


Phelps and His Teachers 


6S 


to week, from bad to worse, the teacher growing 
more impatient every day, and the boy growing so 
nervous that he ceased to think on the subject 
under consideration at all. At times, when every- 
thing was pleasant, he would be able to think 
clearly, and would begin to be interested, but should 
he hesitate for a moment the teacher’s face would 
cloud over and in a flash every shadow of 
reason would leave the boy’s mind and he could 
not think of anything except that he was to be shamed 
and abused again because he couldn’t think like 
other boys could. 

All this bore heavily on his mind but he had been 
ashamed to let his mamma know he was stupid. 
Ellen had helped him at home, but neither had 
mentioned the trouble to their mamma. To Ellen 
there was no trouble. She was a happy, hearty 
girl with nerves of iron. She was always bubbling 
over with good nature, and never failed to see some 
humor in everything. Even when the teacher 
grew red in the face and stormed like a spoiled 
child, to Ellen the situation was humorous. 
Nothing the teacher could say ever cut her any. 
One day she was unfortunate enough to laugh at 
the teacher when that young lady was all but tear- 
ing her hair about some trifling matter. It resulted 
in her getting both cheeks slapped and hair pulled. 
This made her angry for the moment but she had 
almost forgotten it before school closed for the 
day. There were so many funny things going on 
she hadn’t time to remember it. Even that after- 


5 


66 


Phelps and His Teachers 


noon as she and Phelps walked home together, and 
while Phelps was expressing his anger in strong 
terms against the teacher for striking her, she 
burst out, apparently in the most irrelevant laughter. 

“Why Ellen,” said Phelps in surprise, “what are 
you laughing at?” 

After much effort to suppress her pent-up 
emotion, she said : 

“I was just — ^just thinkin’ how much like fish- 
worms they looked,” then she went off into another 
fit of laughter. 

The association of fishworms with a delightful 
sport made Phelps feel like a new boy; so he 
caught the inspiration also, and they had quite an 
attack of it together. 

“What looked like fishworms, Ellen, what was 
it?” 

“Didn’t you see how red she got, Phelps, and 
didn’t you see them big crooked veins swell up on 
her forehead? Oh my! but I just about died 
thinkin’ how they looked like fishworms.” She 
had another very severe attack of laughter at this 
point and Phelps joined her, pounding her on the 
back to keep her from choking, so he told her. 
It was in this manner that Ellen took punishment. 
It would take a world of grief to bear down her 
buoyant and happy spirit. 

But with Phelps it was different. He was of a 
serious turn of mind. He took everything in earn- 
est — saw little humor in a real funny situation. He 
was very sensitive. Every offense against his per- 


Phelps and His Teachers 


67 


son, no matter how slight, was felt so keenly it 
bore him down in spirit for a whole day. It was 
several weeks before the acute stage passed after 
the time when Miss Yerkes had jerked him out of 
his seat and knocked him against the wall. He 
was so humiliated, and hurt by it that it was always 
on his mind. In the midst of study, solving a prob- 
lem or reading his lesson over, that terrible scene 
would come before his eyes and he would forget 
his work. In the midst of a recitation when the 
teacher would be explaining a point to the class 
and as he watched her intently to catch the thought 
he would be reminded of the scene when her face 
was ugly with anger and he would feel her hands 
clutch his arms — feel his head strike the wall — feel 
the pent-up bitterness of it all come over him over- 
whelmingly. Then all her explanations would be 
lost in the flood of his emotions. His poor face 
would begin to twitch with the old-time nervous 
affliction, and the other children would look from 
him to the teacher and back again to him, thus 
causing the boy more trouble by embarrassing him. 

“Phelps, keep your face straight and give atten- 
tion to this explanation,” the teacher would say 
shortly. “I am sure you haven’t the least idea of 
what I have been saying, and I have just wasted 
my breath on you. Now then, tell me what I said 
about that.” 

Poor Phelps! He had not heard it at all. He 
would get red in the face and every muscle would 
twitch in pain — heart pain. 


68 


Phelps and His Teachers 


“There now! I told you you couldn’t. Go to 
your seat, sir, and study this lesson till you get it. 
I am ashamed of you.” 

So Phelps would go to his seat, wishing he was 
dead, but wanting to see her dead first; but Miss 
Yerkes went on with her work, batting at this one 
and that one, never dreaming how her words and 
acts were murdering some of them as truly as if 
she had taken a knife and stabbed them to the 
heart. She struck out right or left, just as her 
passing mood suggested, never considering for a 
moment that every blow should be gauged accord- 
ing to the body it was to strike. Ellen’s great, 
strong, humorous soul could take all her teacher 
could give and find something in it to laugh at. 
But Phelps, sensitive beyond ordinary mortals — 
delicate and considerate, could not stand them at 
all. He was gradually becoming a dullard and a 
wreck through the influence of his teacher, and the 
teacher was too ignorant to know it. 

Miss Yerkes was a graduate of a High school 
and had many accomplishments. She moved in 
good society, and her father was a prominent man. 
But no one had ever told her it was brutish to show 
anger before her pupils. Her father before her often 
flew into a passion and would make things lively 
for a time, and he was a big man. She would have 
been surprised and deeply offended had any one 
ever intimated that her father was a barbarian, not- 
withstanding his greatness and good qualities. 
There were barbarians, away back there in the 


Phelps and His Teachers 


69 


past, who were great. But real gentlemen and real 
ladies in this day of refinement and education do 
not become barbarians because children are not per- 
fect, and because a trifling matter interposes itself 
where it ought not to. When it becomes proper 
for teachers to show anger in the presence of their 
pupils, then it will be proper for gentlemen to 
quarrel and fight like the beasts of the field. 




PHELPS IN THE SIXTH GRADE 
VI 

ISS WHITE, who presided 
over the destinies of the 
pupils of the sixth grade, 
was a natural-born teach- 
er. There was no doubt 
about that. She under- 
stood the habits of chil- 
dren as thoroughly as the 
naturalist does some of 
the most common species of lower animals. She 
never grew tired of sitting at the window during 
the short recess watching the children at play and 
studying their habits of thought and action. She 
always had a good story to tell illustrating the pleas- 
ant side of their lives — those points of character that 
are creditable, showing their sympathetic, humor- 
ous, and patriotic qualities. She was able to find 
more virtue than vice in the meanest child in school. 
She emphasized this virtue — nourished it with her 
love till it grew big enough to successfully fight the 
vice that was always its next door neighbor. 

Miss White’s friends who were teaching with her 
usually began by stimulating the vicious side of the 






Phelps and His Teachers 


71 


child by attacking it, thus building up stronger 
every day the very traits of character most to be de- 
spised. Miss White unconsciously built up the vir- 
tues — made them so strong and thrifty that the vices 
were smothered out. Should you ask her about 
this she would open her eyes with surprise, because 
she is perfectly ignorant of her own great powers. 
She is natural-born to it, but always feels that she 
is not handling this girl or that boy just right. When 
a child does not respond to her efforts she feels that 
she has missed touching the right key and never 
rests till she has tried them all — all of which she has 
any knowledge. To the children that were over- 
flowing with energy she gave work that was pleas- 
ing to absorb it, so that good might come from it 
instead of trouble. Half the trouble teachers have 
in governing comes from the misdirected energy of 
the pupils. She likewise called into active use the 
talents for music, drawing, literature, poetry, that 
different pupils possessed in varying degrees, and 
made them serve as supports to weaker traits of 
character. 

It was fortunate indeed for Phelps Graham and 
another boy, *Tony Rumery, that after all their 
trials they should fall under the influence of Miss 
White. Tony had just come into the ward during 
the summer, and when school re-opened in the fall 
he and Phelps Graham found themselves seated side 
by side. We might have expected a common sym- 

*The incidents in the life of Tony Rumery are gleaned in part from a 
true story told by Dr. A. E. Winship of Boston. 


72 


Phelps and His Teachers 


pathy between the boys, but the expected seldom 
comes to pass. They eyed each other across the 
aisle with contempt — Tony taking in Phelps’ insig- 
nificant stature, and Phelps, Tony’s uncouth and 
coarse-appearing person. The only reason they 
didn’t have trouble at once the first time they got 
together on the playground was because Tony had 
larger game to look after. 

Tony Rumery was just as much a natural-born 
fighter as Miss White was a natural-born teacher. 
He began fighting the very day he was born as 
near as his mamma could recollect. He had fought 
every day of his life since, generally speaking, 
There may have been days when he missed, but if 
there were he made up for it by fighting twice on 
other days. 

He not only had fought all these short years of 
his life, but he had been fought. It is also a fact 
beyond dispute that he had been beaten by every 
teacher he had ever known. His father began the 
process when Tony was a chubby baby, and later 
had kept pace with the teachers. When he was 
ten years old his father had beaten him so brutally 
with a stick that the lad carries a scar over his 
right ear to this day, and it was years before he got 
over the physical effect of that one blow. 

One day, in the other ward across the tracks 
where Tony attended school in the fifth grade, the 
teacher was having a terrible time with him. There 
was no doubt about Tony’s being able to make a 
time for most teachers. He had been so bad the 


Phelps and His Teachers 


73 


teacher was almost distracted. She had tried all 
sorts of punishments but none were effective, so 
after Tony had laid on the last straw she called in 
the principal. They went over the ground and 
passed sentence. The sentence was to be a whip- 
ping by the principal that the boy would not forget 
till his dying day. At recess they requested all 
pupils to leave the room except Tony. When they 
were all out the curtains were drawn and the doors 
were locked. After all was ready the beating be- 
gan. The cries of the boy were heard by the other 
pupils on all parts of the playground, and they gath- 
ered in groups with bated breath and watched the 
curtained window. 

It was a terrible spectacle — those preparations — 
those cries — those curtained windows. Does it not 
all seem horrible? Yet it all happened as recorded; 
there is no exaggeration. They did not know it, 
but they were teaching Tony new methods of tor- 
ture, or stimulating his ideas of old ones with which 
he had long since grown too familiar. 

There were several rough boys in the sixth grade 
and since Tony was a new pupil in that school he 
had to fight to gain supremacy over the would-be 
leaders of the playground. There was Phillip 
Mayes, who had, before Tony’s arrival, bullied all 
the boys, and was their acknowledged leader. 
When he couldn’t get them into line as loyal follow- 
ers with mere orders, he cuffed their ears; if that 
did not suffice, he punched them a few times in the 
ribs, just enough of either method not to call the 


74 


Phelps and His Teachers 


attention of the teacher to it. It is a fact few teach- 
ers are conscious of, that there is a king or bully on 
every playground. There may be two who are 
broad enough to recognize each other’s prowess, 
who rule together, but the rule is, one playground, 
one king or one bully. These terms are not used 
synonymously. Sometimes the ruler is a king be- 
cause of his real worth, manhood, and all that, but 
the bully is backed only by physical strength. 

So just as soon as Tony had taught Phillip Mayes 
that a new king had come to rule over the play- 
ground, he found little trouble in maintaining his 
supremacy. One day, however, during the first 
week, he ran on to unobtrusive Phelps Graham and 
ordered him to do something, peremptorily, and 
just as peremptorily Phelps told him to go to thun- 
der. Tony was amazed to find anyone who dared 
to speak to him in that tone of voice, especially so 
spindling a boy as Phelps Graham. He must be 
taught, and no one could do it so well as Tony, so 
he proceeded to the task. Phelps’ face and body 
began to twitch, and his eyes shot out little rays of 
wrath. It is enough to say that Phelps was beaten 
but not conquered. 

Most boys would have had one eye on the win- 
dow to see if the teacher was looking, but not these 
boys. Tony fought for fun and didn’t care who 
saw it. Phelps fought because he was blind with 
anger. 

The teacher was conscious of the turmoil on the 
playground and she was interested in it. She 


Phelps and His Teachers 


75 


actually felt no annoyance, but rather studied the 
situation with the delight of a student who has 
found a complex problem worthy of his powers. 
She even warmed up to those would-be kings on 
the playground. Such battles, prompted by the 
same spirit, take place among the wild herds in the 
forest, as well as among the herds of civilized men. 
They all afford very interesting studies. 

Miss White had heard Tony’s history time and 
again, from her fellow teachers in the other ward, 
and had pondered much on what method she should 
first try in an effort to tone down his turbulent 
spirit. He was a son of Bohemia, and many a gen- 
eration of strenuous life lay back of him, all to be 
considered as a mantle of charity by the teacher so 
that sympathy might enter largely into her treat- 
ment of him. As she contemplated his case her 
mind ran back to that wild and hard, half barbaric 
life of his ancestors. She did not wonder at Tony’s 
desire for the strenuous. She was filled with sym- 
pathy for him in his eternal conflict with this exact 
and prosaic life of ours. 

She rightly eliminated the rod from considera- 
tion, as it was certain from past experience of other 
teachers that Tony would not succumb to that 
influence. When the day’s work closed she had 
not yet decided what she would do. She asked 
both Tony and Phelps to remain after school. 
When all the pupils were gone she looked at the 
boys sitting quietly in their seats. There was not 
a sound in the room. Empty schoolrooms are 


76 


Phelps and His Teacaers 


oppressive. She called the boys to come forward 
and sit on the front seat. Phelps’ blackened eyes 
and bruised face, and Tony’s belligerent counte- 
nance spoke volumes. It was a critical moment. 
Would she be able to do the right thing? 

She was perplexed, and as she gazed thought- 
fully at her desk her eye caught the title of a book 
of classic stories for boys. She picked it up casu- 
ally, and as she flipped through the pages her gaze 
fell on the title, “A Story of How Casper Saved 
His Brethren.” With a ray of hope, not knowing 
what else to do, she began to read, and in a few 
moments, as soon as they knew it wasn’t a preach- 
ment, the boys began to listen. Further on they 
became interested and then animated. When the 
climax of the story was reached, where brave, 
strong Casper stood like a god before the great 
horde of intruders and beat them back and thus 
saved his own friends and people from destruction, 
Tony’s admiration knew no bounds, and Phelps 
had forgotten his wounded feelings and bruised face. 

“Golly, Phelps, but ain’t he a brave chap?” 

“You bet he is,” responded Phelps with 
enthusiasm. 

Then they began to ask questions about him and 
the other people, and about the book that had such 
a wonderful story in it. The teacher read the titles 
of all the other stories in the book and the boys 
speculated on what they could be about. They 
had unconsciously left their seats and were leaning 
over the desk looking at the book and the pictures. 


Phelps and His Teachers 


11 


The teacher was animated and smiling. She told 
me afterward that she actually forgot all about the 
fight and the reason for the detention of the boys 
until she realized that she had kept them almost an 
hour. Then she said she didn’t have the heart to 
spoil their dream by mentioning the matter. She 
led them to the door hand in hand and bade them 
good-night. She heard them passing under her 
window both talking at once about Casper and his 
wonderful deed, and they went on till they got to 
Phelps’ home, unconscious of anything but that 
story. Phelps’ mamma was standing at the entrance 
and had noted their enthusiasm. As soon as they saw 
her Phelps began to tell her about the story, to be 
interrupted by Tony with mock illustrations of how 
Casper did it. So busy were they telling it Phelps’ 
mamma didn’t get a chance to ask Phelps what 
blackened his eyes and bruised his face until the 
story ended. Then she asked: 

“Phelps, what’s the matter with your face?” 

Tony looked ashamed and hung his head. Phelps 
hurried to say : 

“That’s all right mamma; we all got into a rough- 
and-tumble at school to-day, and I got hurt a little, 
but it don’t hurt now, mamma, and we have had a 
splendid time; ain’t we, Tony?” 

“You bet we hev,” responded that worthy, and he 
sidled off, casually saying, “but I got to git fer 
home now.” He picked up a clod and fired it at a 
knot-hole on a near-by board fence and with a hop, 


78 


Phelps and His Teachers 


skip and a hand-spring for good measure, scampered 
off home. 

Perhaps as he went along he remembered what a 
nice thing it was for Phelps to shield his meanness 
by lying to his mamma, thus saving him whatever 
humiliation his coarse nature might have been 
capable of feeling under the circumstances, had she 
known that he, Tony Rumery, had bruised her 
beloved son. 

At any rate, whatever Tony may have thought, 
the next morning found him at the teacher’s desk 
looking at that wonderful book. He had evidently 
forgotten his fight with Phelps. He was used to 
such things. He loved to fight, and he had never 
before been known to leave the playground where 
he could romp and do things for any amusement in 
the schoolhouse. His acts that day had been 
flavored with the valor of Casper. His energies 
heretofore had been an outflowing without an 
object in view, just simply a case of blowing off 
steam or bursting. It was the energy of nature and 
it had been misdirected by human agencies. 

All day Miss White had pondered over the 
matter. She felt that she must do something that 
night, sure, to make Tony feel that she would not 
tolerate fighting. At the last recess the boys took 
another look at the book that contained the story of 
Casper, and asked the teacher if she would read to 
them again. They had forestalled her, as she had 
intended to keep them in anyway. So after she 


Phelps and His Teachers 


79 


had read them another story she thought it time to 
say something. 

“Boys, I want to talk to you to-night about a 
serious matter — ” 

Tony flared up at once on the defensive. 

“What are you goin’ to talk about? If it’s about 
fightin’ you needn’t say a word because ’twon’t do 
no good. I jist have to fight, and I can’t help it. 
I’d ruther fight ’n eat. No chance in this world fer 
fightin’ men any more, nuther, like there was in 
them old Greek times. I’z born too late, an’ I wish I’z 
dead, that’s what I do.” 

Tony sank into his seat dejectedly. It just 
seemed to him as if all the light in the world had 
gone out — all the things he loved to do were 
saturated with vinegar. Now this was a point 
where a loving heart and a discerning mind were 
necessary. Miss White was on the threshold of a 
great climax. Would she be great enough to grasp 
the situation? What would she say to Tony? 
Would she begin a lot of useless preaching about 
the evils of fighting? Would she understand the 
heart of the boy that was so full of the love for it 
that there was room for nothing else? Here is 
what she did, and she did it without a reason. One 
thing guided her; the heart-cry of that boy, that 
there was no place in the world now-a-days for 
fighting men as of old, and therefore no hope for 
him, brought forth a flood of sympathy. She felt 
so keenly with him the sad state of his feelings that 
she longed to do something to make the future look 


8o 


Phelps and His Teachers 


brighter. Impulsively she leaned over and with 
great enthusiasm, said: 

“Tony, I know what you can do. You can be a 
great man some day, too, if you will do as I tell you. 
Listen now, Tony Rumery; you can stop the 
quarreling and fighting on the schoolground, if 
you are of a mind to do it. If you will use your 
great strength for a good purpose you can make 
every boy on the schoolground a gentleman in his 
play.” 

Tony, as the thought took hold of him, leaned 
over with his mouth open and excitedly replied: 

“I can jist do it ! If you say so, teacher, I will 
jist show these big bullies on the playground that 
they can’t run over the little fellers. I’ll stop 
quarrelin’ and fightin’~Yes sir, or yes ma’am, I can 
do it.” 

“Of course Phelps is to help you, but you are 
both to promise me you won’t do anything that 
isn’t manly. You will always ask yourselves, ‘Will 
I be ashamed to tell Miss White just what I have 
done?’” 

The next forenoon at recess there was quite a 
clatter in the hall and a great deal of loud breathing 
just before the door was thrown open by Phelps, 
and Tony strode into the room — into the teacher’s 
presence with a boy in each hand, held by the 
collar, and said: 

“Now I want to say to j^ou fellers, right here in 
the presence of yer teacher, that if I ever catch you 
fightin’ agin on these schoolgrounds. I’ll lick ye 


Phelps and His Teachers 8i 

both within an inch of yer lives. (Giving them a 
shake.) Do you hear?” 

The boys heard^ and by wise direction from Miss 
White, Captain Tony Rumery and Lieutenant 
Phelps Graham had the boys of the school lined up 
in good order and questions of honor were often 
under discussion. When the Captain couldn’t decide 
it, Miss White was appealed to. She was always 
near by when needed, and by careful study of plans 
for self-government, she and Tony laid out a system 
that called for many officers and honorary credits. 
A citizen of exceptional honor and usefulness to the 
school wore a badge which gave him special privi- 
leges. As soon as a boy or girl could be trusted 
with a privilege without abusing it, this badge was 
pinned on his coat or dress by the teacher. It was 
also taken off when the citizen lapsed into evil ways. 
Thus the children were taught to control their pas- 
sions and govern themselves. Miss White illustrated 
that boys are bad because of this misdirected 
energy. 

At a very critical point in the lives of these two 
boys she came upon the scene and was great enough 
in heart and mind to grapple successfully with the 
situation. As a result of her efforts, Tony Rumery 
was lifted up out of his benighted self, and started 
on the road to better things in life. He read all the 
classic Greek stories he could find and finally 
hungered to read them in the original language. 
This desire made him study and Miss White was 
ever at his side to add fuel to the uncertain flame. 


7 


82 


Phelps and His Teachers 


It took time — years — but she never took away from 
him this support. As he moved on from one 
teacher to another, he always came back to her for 
sympathy and encouragement. It was thus that 
through dark and wavering years he had a tower 
of strength near him which encouraged him to mount 
over one obstacle after another until the high school 
was finished, then the great university of California, 
and at last a scholarly and finished gentleman stood 
at the end and looked back through the hazy years 
to the old Tony Rumery. Strong in the afterglow 
of that old time was the sweet and hopeful face of 
Catherine White. To his turbulent spirit she had 
been a beacon light that no storm had ever dimmed, 
and now that he was safely anchored in a quiet 
harbor, he paid her a tribute beside which the gain- 
ing of the whole world is nothing. 

Her reward was so great words cannot measure it. 

During the year Phelps was with Miss White, he 
partially recovered his lost ground and was gradu- 
ally taking a permanent interest in his studies when 
the year closed. 

It remains to be told what manner of progress he 
made in the seventh and eighth grades. 




PHELPS IN THE SEVENTH GRADE 
VII 

OR every good teacher 
Phelps had had, there had 
been a correspondingly 
bad one, so he had gained 
in one year only to lose in 
the next from the time he 
first entered the public 
schools. 

Therefore, according to 
this law of alternation, he was due to have a warm 
time of it in No. 7. His sixth grade teacher. Miss 
White, was a born teacher, and her influence over 
him had been far-reaching indeed. But the im- 
pressionable stage of life is affected by all winds, 
good or ill, and the change of teachers from Miss 
White to Miss Ramsey was just like passing from 
a summer land to one full of rocks and snow. Tony 
Rumery and Phelps had grown better together 
under the refined influence of Miss White, and it 
was indeed fortunate for Tony that he was not able 
to be promoted, so he had the benefit of two years’ 
work under Miss White. It would have been far 






84 


Phelps and His Teachers 


better for Phelps, also, considering his state of 
health, had he been retained in the sixth grade an- 
other year. 

But however that may be, he passed into No. 7, 
and Miss Emma Ramsey began to clash with him 
from the first day. 

But this was not all of his trouble. Late in Sep- 
tember the greatest misfortune of all overtook him. 
His father, who had been his closest companion, 
sickened and died. His grief was unappeasable. 
He did not go to school for two weeks. Every day 
he would go to his father’s office and hang around 
his desk. Mr. Brown, his father’s partner, laughed 
and told stories in an effort to assuage his grief, but 
as soon as he was out of sight the boy would throw 
himself across his father’s desk and cry out his bit- 
ter sorrow alone. To him there seemed to be no 
compensation. When Saturday afternoon came, 
the day he and his papa always had together, his 
loss was doubly emphasized. It was on these after- 
noons that they had always made their trips to the 
country afoot, and spent the time among the wild 
things along the creek. So this first Saturday 
afternoon after his papa had gone hence, he gazed 
longingly and sadly from the office window over 
housetops and vacant lots to the hazy country be- 
yond. He could see the line of trees that marked 
the stream, and the great woods beyond that, and 
in imagination he could see the ground covered 
with the first fall of leaves, and the clear, cold pools 
in the creek trembling in anticipation of the coming 


Phelps and His Teachers 


85 


of the ice king. And strongly outlined amidst it all 
were he and his papa. The picture lured him, and 
taking his hat he hurried on out into the country 
through a shady lane, where the first yellow leaves 
had carpeted the ground. As he rustled through 
them, various insects skipped in confusion out of 
his way. A rabbit scurried out from under the 
hedge, and a blue jay scolded from the boughs 
above. He began to walk softly along the way so 
as to not disturb the wild things in their haunts. 
The rabbit reminded him of an incident when he 
and his papa were once tramping among the hazel 
brush. He came within a few feet of a rabbit 
snugly hidden under a tuft of grass. He whispered 
the information to his papa, and was in the act of 
striking the rabbit with his stick, when his father 
stopped him, and told him that rabbits were very 
much like human beings — that they had a home — 
that there were brothers and sisters, fathers, and 
mothers, and that, should he kill this one, they would 
miss him sadly at home, just as his mamma would 
miss him should some giant steal up and strike him 
dead. It all came back to him now so vividly he 
wondered how he could have ever been so heartless 
as to want to kill anything. 

So, in his sorrow he imagined a father for every- 
thing he saw, and felt so keenly the value of life 
that he cried when by accident he crushed a beetle. 
He turned over a decayed log to find its home and 
to see if it really had brothers or sisters, or a father 
or mother to mourn over its death. He found sev- 


86 


Phelps and His Teachers 


eral others under the log, and was greatly relieved 
to find they paid little, if any, attention to their dead 
brother. But in making this investigation the boy 
grew wonderfully interested in their habits. A lit- 
tle farther on, down by the creek side, he found the 
path of a musk-rat, and a few moments later saw 
its owner swimming steadily on the clear, cool pool 
of water below. He crushed a twig under foot, and 
the rat dived out of sight into the depth of the pool, 
to reappear later at the mouth of his hole in the 
bank. All these living, moving things appealed to 
him wonderfully. The voice of the woods means, 
collectively, the voices of all the things in the woods, 
and nothing so pleased Phelps as to sit down quietly 
and become a part of the life; see it come and go 
and speculate on what it all meant. And there are 
so many living things, thousands more of them than 
ordinary people ever see. But Phelps and his papa 
had visited the homes of most of the larger species, 
and knew their voices and habits. 

But, somehow, the woods were out of tune — the 
voices sad and discordant, and Phelps was so lonely 
he went back home earlier than was his custom. 
He tramped up the back walk alone, where for so 
many, many Saturdays he and his papa had tramped 
together, tired and hungry. 

After two weeks out of school Phelps went back 
to Miss Ramsey. She remembered vaguely that 
Phelps had had some trouble at home — sickness, 
death or something — but within a day she forgot all 


Phelps and His Teachers 


87 


about that. It did not seem to have anything about 
it to hang to. 

Miss Ramsey had a pointed nose, and perhaps 
this explains why people always got an impression 
that she could snoop into things quite successfully. 
Her inquisitiveness was so pronounced she was 
never happy save when on tours of investigation. 
Her power to hunt down a culprit and fix the guilt 
was something marvelous. She enjoyed it so much, 
and administered the punishment with such vigor 
that she seldom let the most trivial offense pass 
unnoticed. The children respected her power in 
this particular, but it produced no feeling of respect 
for her as a teacher or a woman. When among 
themselves they spoke of her as “Snoopy Ramsey.” 
This faculty of “snooping” led her to a complete 
family history of each child in school. Not for the 
purpose of being able to better control the child, 
but for the sake of knowing all its weak points. 
When a boy violated a rule of the school her mind 
instantly recalled all the short-comings of his 
parents, which resulted in an inward denunciation 
of the whole breed as being beyond redemption. 
She made no allowance whatever for birth or cir- 
cumstances of life. She was vindictive for the love 
of it. 

Yet it must not be understood that Miss Ramsey 
had no good traits of character. There is good in 
every one, no matter how bad he may seem. But 
in Miss Ramsey’s character there was little sweet- 
ness — little to love. She was cold and harsh. She 


88 


Phelps and His Teachers 


could cut out a little heart with words alone. Mixed 
in with all her instruction was a vein of sarcasm 
that blighted like a hot wind from the desert. If a 
child made a mistake, forgot his lesson, or failed to 
prepare it, he was doomed to a fate that a child 
most dreads, and one that injuries his life more than 
a beating, physically. 

Phelps was doomed to a hard time of it with 
Miss Ramsey. It was wholly an impossibility for 
two such persons to ever understand each other. 
They were like a fish and a bird — had no common 
ground on which to stand. To her Phelps seemed 
a pernickity, stuck-up kid. To him Miss Ramsey 
was a horrid, brutal woman. Perhaps his opinion 
was never formed into words, but that would be 
about the substance of it were it translated into 
English. 

Phelps was not the only child that suffered from 
her sarcasm and lack of judgment, as will be seen. 

Such a thing as an individual she did not consider 
in administering her rebukes and instructions. She 
thought of her pupils collectively, a thing of many 
parts, that moved an acted like a machine, no part 
requiring individual attention. Simply turn a lever, 
throw on the steam, and let it go. So, if some one 
committed an offense she would mount the platform 
at her desk and lecture the whole school on the 
subject. Maybe forty pupils out of the fifty knew 
nothing of the offense in question, and would never 
have thought about doing such a thing had she not 
suggested it to their minds. Perhaps for the first 


Phelps and His Teachers 


89 


time in their lives they thought of the possibility of 
doing just that very thing, and not being found out. 

Phelps had many faults, like all boys, but on the 
whole he had grown up under the most favorable 
influences. His home life was ideal, and his family 
in comfortable circumstances. He was proud and 
dignified, and scorned deception or the use of vulgar 
language. Miss Ramsey’s lectures always started 
his face to twitching, which was proof that he was 
stirred. 

One morning, a month after Phelps’ papa’s death, 
and while he was still mellow with sorrow, a terri- 
ble scene took place in the schoolroom. After the 
last bell had ceased ringing Miss Ramsey stepped 
up onto her throne, and with an air of “something- 
awful’s-going-to-happen” about her, she stood glanc- 
ing fiercely down upon the school. Not a word 
was spoken for some time, but every child in the 
room could smell the sulphur in the air, and feel 
that something momentous was about to happen. 
It was sufficient to start Phelps’ face twitching — 
just the air, the sulphur, you know. Some people 
exhale stuff like that; we can detect them afar off. 
After she had stood before them long enough to 
impress them with the great impending disaster 
she had nosed out, she cleared her throat, and 
pushed her nose to the front a few inches, and in a 
measured, penetrating tone of voice that sent a 
shudder through every child present, said : 

^^7/iere^s a thief in onr ^nidstP'* 

The children all started in their seats, and with 


8 


90 


Phelps and His Teachers 


frightened eyes looked around the room for the 
monster, and not seeing him in the room, they all 
looked at her inquiringly and nervously. After an 
awe-inspiring silence of a few seconds, she went on : 

“He’s right in this room. He’s one of you — 
which one I don’t know. But mark my words 
well! rilgethimr 

The children all gave another star-t at this as if 
they were just as good as caught then. Many a 
poor little culprit trembled with fear as the eyes of 
other children who knew all the ordinary offenders 
were turned upon him. Little Sammy Bryant, who 
had often stolen apples from lunch baskets because 
he was most always hungry, cried and looked like 
a thief. Another little fellow who had been caught 
hiding a pencil he had picked up from the floor, was 
at once selected for the thief in question. The 
children seemed to know that Sammy only stole 
things to eat, and they associated nothing bad with 
his act. But what was stolen? Listen to Miss 
Ramsey. She will tell it with pleasure. 

“Some thief (how she enjoyed that horrid word; 
it melted in her mouth like snow) crept into the 
cloak-room yesterday afternoon and stole some 
money from Susie Owen’s pocket. Do you hear 
that? I do not know yet who of you did it, but I 
have my opinion (at this she glared at certain cul- 
prits), and if he or she does not come to me and 
acknowledge the crime it will be so much the worse 
for him or her when I do find the right one.” 

There were a few children in the room who had 


Phelps and His Teachers 91 

no very well-founded ideas on the property rights 
of others, and this was probably the first thought 
they had on the feasibility of going through pockets 
in the cloak-room for loose change, and no doubt 
tried it the first opportunity thereafter. On the 
other hand there were a great many children pres- 
ent who were unconsciously outraged by her talk, 
and their sensitive natures coarsened. 

When the scene was over they tried to settle 
down to work, but it was a difficult task. They 
could not study. The sensation was too great. 
The question of “Who is the thief?” bore heavily 
on their minds. The sensitive souls actually saw 
the thief between the lines; the inquisitive ones 
looked about over the room trying to spy out the 
ones that would likely steal money. In short the 
whole attention of the school was given up to the 
consideration of the question that forenoon. 

At noon, as Phelps and Ellen walked home to- 
gether, he confidentially expressed his fears to her 
that he might be suspected of the theft — that he 
was the only pupil excused from the room during 
the afternoon when the money was taken. They 
didn’t tell their mamma of it at noon, but that night 
when Phelps couldn’t go to sleep, and his mamma 
found him in a state of nervous collapse, he told her 
about it — about how during the afternoon he had 
not been able to get his lessons on account of it, and 
how he had been scolded roundly for it by the 
teacher. Ellen had also failed in her lessons out of 
sympathy for Phelps, and had also been scolded. 


92 


Phelps and His Teachers 


“Why, Phelps,” the teacher had said to him, “I 
have seen you just gazing out of the window half 
the afternoon instead of studying your lessons. You 
are a good-for-nothing, idling away your time that 
way.” She would upset the whole school, then 
scold them again for being upset. During the 
afternoon Ellen had felt so keenly the possibility of 
Phelps being accused, she had to tell one of her 
little friends about it, and she, in turn, told her 
friends about it, and then in an hour the whole school 
knew that Phelps Graham was the only boy who 
had left the room. 

“Oh, ho!” said Miss Ramsey when she heard the 
story, “I see it all now. He is the criminal, and 
just what I might have expected from the pernick- 
ity stuck-up kid. All afternoon he was unable to 
do anything because of his guilty conscience. Pll 
fix him good and plenty.” 

It was after school hours when she heard the 
story, so she had to defer action till next morning. 
She could hardly wait. When the last bell ceased, 
she mounted her throne. Every child knew Phelps 
Graham was the thief. The teacher knew it. 
Phelps did not know that he was yet suspected. 
But the awful air was again in the room, and no 
one touched a book, but waited expectantly. 

“ We have found the thief T"* she announced. “I 
will not name him now until I have talked with 
him, but we all know who he is. I am going to 
wait a day to see if he is man enough to come to me 
of his own accord.” Then she looked straight at 


Phelps and His Teachers 


93 


Phelps. Poor boy! The whole school stared at 
him with contempt. At recess he was ostracised 
and called a thief by more boys than one. All of 
them — everybody — seemed to forget that it was 
only a month since he had seen his father buried. 
His home was still in mourning. He and Ellen 
could stand it no longer, so at noon, when they told 
their mamma what had befallen them at school, she 
decided they need not go back for a few days. She 
said nothing about it — only cried. Her spirit was 
broken. She did not even feel like going to the 
teacher and making a protest. What booted it? 
They had lost hope — everything, she thought. 
Phelps wanted to quit school for good, as he could 
better help his mother by earning something. 

When Phelps and Ellen did not come back in the 
afternoon Miss Ramsey thought, “Oh, he’s trying 
to escape me.” All the children thought so, too. 
The news spread to the other rooms in the building. 
By the second day most everybody knew and 
believed Phelps was a thief. But there was one 
who didn’t, maybe more, and when Miss White in 
the sixth grade heard about it she went straight as 
she could go to Miss Ramsey and told her it could 
not be possible. Phelps Graham was no thief, and 
she ought to know he wasn’t just by looking at him. 
Miss Ramsey was astonished at the idea, but 
as Miss White was so positive, she began 
to waver, and sure enough that very night, after 
Phelps had stood a convicted thief for two whole 
days, a little girl came to her crying, saying that she 


94 


Phelps and His Teachers 


had found the money in her lunch basket the day it 
was lost, where it had fallen from the coat pocket 
and lodged, and that she brought it back the next 
morning to give to the teacher, but before she could 
do so the teacher had made her announcement of the 
theft, and then she was afraid to say anything about it. 

How easy it all came about, and how naturally, yet 
think of the sorrow and shame resulting. All because 
the teacher lacked judgment. Miss White, who knew 
how Phelps had been driven out of school, cried 
about it, and that very night went to his home and 
took him in her arms and told him the mystery had 
been cleared up and he was entirely exonerated. 
Ah, the sunshine she brought to them in their sor- 
row! Did Miss Ramsey hurry over to excuse her- 
self? No. She waited till the next morning, and 
made a conditional and half-hearted apology for the 
conduct of the school in hastily passing judgment. 
She, herself, had wisely waited until the truth could 
be known. See her sneak out of it. It is so like 
her type. She would have made us all like her 
better, and feel sorry for her mistake for her own 
sake had she followed the example of Miss White. 
It is no disgrace to acknowledge a mistake, nor is it 
a weakness, as some imagine. On the other hand it 
is really a noble quality, and should be cultivated. 
They say nothing is lost, that everything created, 
every word uttered goes on forever, and the only 
way to neutralize an evil act is to start a good one 
after it. Miss Ramsey sent on the waves of time 
her mistaken deeds, but never a good one to plead 


Phelps and His Teachers 


95 


for her forgiveness. She could have done much to 
wipe it all out and make Phelps feel at home again 
in the school, but she did not do it. Phelps and 
Ellen came back — Phelps quiet and shame-faced. 
He imagined that he was doubted, and as a result 
did not associate with other children any more than 
he had to. He lost interest in his work, and failed 
in his lessons so often he was reported to the prin- 
cipal. The principal took the matter up with the 
teacher and the boy, and supposed that he had 
settled it. Matters grew worse. Phelps begged 
his mamma to let him quit school — that it was no 
use; he couldn’t learn anything. She told him she 
had promised his papa to educate him — put him 
through college no matter what happened, and she 
must not let him quit. Maybe something would 
happen that would change matters. 

Before the year closed, the principal, who taught 
in the eighth grade, had Phelps before him again. 
This time he threatened to use the rod if Phelps did 
not apply himself, but it only made the boy duller 
still. He would sit, when not excited, quietly in his 
seat gazing at a blank wall with a dull countenance, 
now and then starting up suddenly, and with a pain- 
ful, hopeless expression, go to work again. But he 
would give it up in a few minutes — get completely 
lost as his gaze sought the woods along the creek, 
in plain sight from his window. The dull school- 
room, miserable lessons, all so mean in comparison 
to all that lay budding and bursting into life out 
there. There where he and his papa had gone to 


96 


Phelps and His Teachers 


school together — Nature’s school. Yes, indeed, he 
was out of tune; there was no helping hand to 
reach out for him to place him in harmony with his 
surroundings. Miss White was too busy with other 
boys and girls like Phelps to be able to help him 
there. 

“Keep on, Phelps dear,” his mamma would say. 
“Something may happen to help us. Don’t give up 
yet.” 

When the year closed Miss Ramsey actually 
thrust Phelps into the eighth grade, notwithstand- 
ing his marks. She wanted to get rid of him, and 
the principal promised to take the tucks out of him 
when he once had him in his room. The principal 
was a man, and he delighted in showing his teach- 
ers how he did this and that. Let us watch him. 




PHELPS IN THE EIGHTH GRADE 
VIII 

RINCIPAL James Brooks 
was not a strong man, 
either mentally or physic- 
ally. It was apparent to 
the discerning that he was 
not the sort of man whose 
habits and thoughts ap- 
pealed to boys. It was 
equally apparent that he 
had not enough of red blood in his veins, and manly 
ways to attract the girls. In short, when a lad he 
was called a sissy-boy by his mates. Not the sort 
of man to set up as a healthy example for young 
people to copy. The only time these young people 
copied the professor was in mock comedy when he 
wasn’t looking. 

But he was a man who had ideas and liked to ap- 
pear well before the people. When a teacher would 
appeal to him for help in a difficult case that would 
likely make trouble, he always looked wise and 
evaded taking a position on the subject. 

Phelps’ case was an exception. When Miss 
® Ramsey had brought the matter before him the 




98 


Phelps and His Teachers 


year before he took a strong stand on the subject. 
Phelps* father was dead and his mother was not 
likely to make any complaint. But his advice was 
worse than useless, because it was based on false 
premises. ’He had jumped at the conclusion, gained 
by a superficial glance at the facts, that the boy was 
simply lazy and dull — could do no great thing in 
life because he was not naturally endowed, but he 
could do much more if he were not so lazy. 

So when the professor found the boy in his room 
and the fact confronted him that he must put his 
advice to Miss Ramsey into practice, he wavered 
a little. Yet he watched the boy for a week and 
took important notes along the lines laid down in 
the Child Study Monthly, and, a la Dr. Wiseacre, 
he made quite a display of his data and conclusions 
before the teachers’ meeting on Friday afternoon. 
He felt proud of himself. Feeling that he had 
made quite a discovery, he sent his observations to 
the Monthly for publication, should they seem suit- 
able to the editor. 

In spite of his observations and conclusions that 
Phelps’ main trouble was indifference and down- 
right laziness, he made no progress whatever in 
correcting the trouble. 

Mr. Brooks told the teachers after a month or so 
of trials, that from the very first it was apparent 
that Phelps’ case was hopeless. In the meantime 
Phelps had reached the same conclusion. It had 
been dinned into his ears so long that he was a dul- 
lard he had begun to believe it thoroughly, so thor- 


Phelps and His Teachers 


99 


oughly that he never ceased imploring his mamma 
to let him quit school. The subject never seemed 
to be out of his mind. But his mamma would al- 
ways plead for a little longer trial. “Something 
may happen to help us.” That was her favorite 
statement. 

One day it occurred to Phelps that if he had a 
position it would help him to win his mamma’s con- 
sent, so secretly he began to hunt for a place among 
the merchants of the town. To his surprise he 
found them all anxious to help him. In fact, several 
of them talked the matter over among themselves 
and finally arranged for him to begin as a clerk in 
one of the large stores. All this in deference to his 
widowed mother and in kindly remembrance of 
their friend, his father. 

Phelps hurried home with the good news to his 
mother. When he had finished telling her how he 
had been treated, she burst into tears. 

“Oh Phelps, you must not quit yet. Try just a 
little longer — a month anyway. You know your 
father insisted that I must educate you, no matter 
what happened. Would you have me forget that?” 

Phelps remembered it all and was confounded 
with his perplexing and humiliating position. There 
was nothing left for him to do but try a little longer. 

“Something may happen, Phelps, dear, to help 
you. Let us not lose faith yet.” 

Phelps knew all that by heart, and with great 
disgust and sadness he went back to school. But 
as the days dragged by his disgust for the school 

fLorC.i 


100 


Phelps and His Teachers 


increased. Each day found his dreamy, dead coun- 
tenance growing deader still, if such were possible. 
Try as|hard as he might he could not get hold of his 
studies. The professor, a good enough man in his 
way, had no notion of what the boy’s real troubles 
were. He thought he knew the boy was dull and 
lazy and day after day held him up to ridicule be- 
fore the school with the idea of arousing his pride. 

It was at a teachers’ meeting on Friday evening 
that he brought up the Phelps case, and told them 
about his method of treating it. 

“Stir his pride by shaming him before the school 
is my method,” he remarked in finishing. 

Miss White was present, and in her calm, serious 
dignity was listening to the professor’s complaint. 
Indeed they were all there — all of Phelps’ teachers 
from the beginning, save the nameless one, his first 
teacher who had been married for three or four 
years and had “brats” of her own to knock about; 
so let her pass. This subject of Phelps was a ser- 
ious matter to most of them. They all had some- 
thing to remember him by, and some of them should 
have been grateful to him for the lessons they 
learned at his expense. 

At the end of the long recitation seat sat big- 
hearted Marie Anderson who had only the most pleas- 
ing recollection of Phelps as a bright-eyed lad. She 
could even recall the sensation of joy and pride she 
felt that day long ago as he clung to her fingers 
when she passed him to Miss Noyes — when he 
didn’t want to be promoted, and she could hear his 


Phelps and His Teachers 


lOI 


boyish voice, “I wish I could alius stay in your 
room.” 

Sitting by her side was Miss Noyes, bluft and 
good-natured as ever, but ever so much wiser, and 
she remembered Phelps so well her laughter and 
jokes were stilled for an hour while he was under 
discussion. She had to live over that hateful scene 
again when she had whipped him for (as she 
thought) making faces at her. 

Then there was the sweet and gentle Miss Adams 
who had an epoch making event to mentally recall. 
She could see that little sitting-room and hear those 
voices coming back to her out of the silence — even 
the grave; and she felt grateful that she had once 
heard them in reality. It gave her light that she 
might better see the way. 

Then there was sharp-voiced, cold-blooded Miss 
Yerkes. She indifferently remembered several of 
her tantrums while Phelps was in her room. She 
recalled having knocked his head against the door 
one day. But it did not matter much to her now. 
It was only a memory. 

But whatever may have been the varying weak- 
nesses of these teachers they had all grown better 
together. The leavening influence of Miss White 
had been felt by them all. At every teachers’ 
meeting she told them heart stories she had drawn 
from wayward, weak and oppressed humanity as it 
drifted by her daily. God bless her! She always 
found their secret sorrows. Into her open heart 
they all poured their troubles from the high school 


102 


Phelps and His Teachers 


down. Often she would say in confidence to Miss 
Yerkes, or Miss Noyes, or Miss Adams, as the 
case might be, something to this effect: “Little 
Jimmy Owens has much trouble at home — his papa 
beats him and he doesn’t have enough to eat half 
the time.” Miss White knew what the boy needed 
at school so she hoped this bit of information would 
help the teacher to deal justly with the lad; or it 
might be that some girl needed the care of a mother, 
or any of the numerous needs of a large body of 
children. And she always did it so considerately 
and conscientiously it bore immediate fruit. She 
never found fault with any one, but was always 
charitable toward the erring. 

Even Miss Ramsey, alias “Snoopy Ramsey,” al- 
ways gave heed and bowed in deference when Miss 
White added her mite to the argument. 

The professor wanted evidence to prove his pre- 
conceived idea that Phelps was a lazy good-for- 
nothing lad. But of all his teachers not one of them 
raised a voice against him. Miss White told how 
he had developed in her room, and in detail gave 
his and Tony Rumery’s experience. It should 
have been proof that he was bright enough. But 
the professor could not see how it could be true, 
and Miss Ramsey thought him rather dull. So the 
subject was dropped and nothing gained, or if any- 
thing was gained it was lost again immediately 
thereafter. Miss White, Miss Anderson and Miss 
Adams were certain there was good in the boy and 
hoped for his ultimate success. The others thought 


Phelps and His Teachers 


103 


there might be but it was so tangled up they had 
not been able to do much with it. Miss Ramsey, 
his last teacher, had stereotyped his present condi- 
tion after creating it, without ever suspecting she 
was anything short of perfection. Principal Brooks 
could not inspire either admiration or confidence in 
the boy. 

Two weeks had passed since Phelps had had his 
last interview with his mother, and still nothing had 
happened to help him. It was apparent to her that 
she could not hold out much longer unless some- 
thing did happen. 

“What could happen?” she said over and over to 
herself. Nothing seemed possible that would help. 
She was in despair. So was the boy. 

But something did happen, impossible though it 
seemed. One morning at school the professor did 
not appear. Later it was learned he was sick. 
One week passed and the school got along with a 
substitute. Then it was learned that Mr. Brooks 
would have to give up the school on account of his 
health. 

But how was this to help Phelps, you ask? This 
is how it came about. When it was ascertained 
that Mr. Brooks would not be able to continue his 
work, a new principal came to take his place per- 
manently. This gave Mrs, Graham hope, so she 
urged Phelps to try the new principal before he de- 
cided to quit school for good. 

Mr. Hayes, the new principal, was a real man. 
The boys began to ape his manners right away. 


104 


Phelps and His Teachers 


They looked up to him and listened to all he had to 
say to them. He understood boys well, and it was not 
long until he had taken a sort of inventory of the 
school. At first the teacher sees only the pro- 
nounced things, like very bright scholars, very dull 
ones, very bad ones, very nice ones, and so on. 
But in a day or so he begins a deeper analysis of 
them. Then he sees all the different shades of 
temperaments, and different degrees of habits fixed, 
and forming. All these are guide-posts to proper 
conduct on the part of the teacher. 

It wasn’t long until Mr. Hayes saw a dull, listless 
countenance turned toward the great woods over 
beyond the creek. Later in the day he saw the 
same hopeless face again, and he became impressed 
by it and wondered why it was listless and hope- 
less. Somehow it reminded him how he had felt 
once himself away back there when he was a boy. 
He could almost feel the angel hand on his head 
then — the one that satisfied that longing in the 
heart for human sympathy. So much did this face 
impress him that he strolled back and in passing 
casually spoke kindly to the boy and laid his hand 
on his shoulder. Ah, there was so much in that 
touch — stuff on which hungry hearts are fed! 
Phelps turned away his head to hide the tears he 
was ashamed of. Can you explain those tears? 
Where they came from — the conflicting emotions 
and all? 

Mr. Hayes knew nothing of the boy’s history — 
not even his name when he first saw his listless 


Phelps and His Teachers 


10 


105 

countenance. But the next day he began to dis- 
cover why Phelps was so listless and hopeless. He 
did not understand his lessons. Everything was 
difficult and he showed every sign of being afraid. 

But he looked over all this and in all his explana- 
tions to the class he looked at Phelps. It helped 
to hold Phelps’ attention on the lesson and by de- 
grees he was able to get some sense out of it all. 

At recess Mr. Hayes apparently happened to pass 
Phelps’ seat and as he came back stopped and had 
a pleasant little chat with him. There was some- 
thing so genuine about this Mr. Hayes. That 
touch on the arm—- that kindly eye — the fellow 
feeling — ah, it was all so good, coming after all the 
trouble and heartache he had experienced. Mr. 
Hayes asked him to stay awhile after school, if he 
were not in a hurry ; he would like to get better ac- 
quainted with him and his work. 

That was a great day in Phelps’ life. Somehow 
or other he was led on to talk about everything he 
ever did — his trips to the country — his love of the 
woods — his hopes for the future — his position in the 
store; in short, almost everything, and this man lis- 
tened to it all as if it were a new and wonderful tale 
to him. It is a great power, this faculty of being 
able to live with others in their own hearts for a 
time. They like it, too, and it makes them love 
you. You become heart of their heart, soul of their 
soul. Not since he had left Miss White had he 
ever talked that way with any one. He had grown 
secretive and had shut himself up from every one. 


io6 


Phelps and His Teachers 


Even his mother had lost something of his life. 
But to Mr. Hayes he poured out his hopes and fears 
as if he had known him forever instead of for only 
a day. The next day Phelps went to school with 
some hope for the first time since he left Miss 
White’s room. But his lessons were the same hard 
things to study, yet they did not seem so hard to 
recite. Mr. Hayes made them so plain and easy. 
In the geography class Phelps wasn’t able to an- 
swer any of the printed questions at the end of the 
lesson and to his surprise the teacher never asked 
him any of those. Mr. Brooks always asked him 
several of them and showed the class how stupid 
he was not to be able to answer them. But Mr. 
Hayes did ask him something. The lesson was on 
the products, soil, climate, etc., of the middle states, 
and he asked Phelps to tell the class what kind of 
trees grew in the big woods over across the creek. 
Could Phelps answer that question do you think? 
He blushed deeply but after Mr. Hayes had turned 
the attention of the class for a moment to another 
matter so the boy would have a chance to blush it 
out unobserved, he came back to the subject, and 
Phelps told them of all the kinds of trees that grew 
in the big woods, and which ones were used in the 
lumber trade. There was not a boy or girl in the 
class that could do it as well as Phelps did. So it 
happened every day in every class. Somehow Mr. 
Hayes would twist things around so that he would 
have Phelps telling about something that no one 
else had observed. 


Phelps and His Teachers 


107 


In the reading lesson there was something about 
nature in some form that would help Phelps out 
when if he had been held to the regular questions 
he would have failed. In arithmetic he would have 
to tell about the practical side of the subject as he 
had seen it knocking about with his father. It be- 
came a habit with Phelps to remain after school 
and visit with the teacher. Sometimes there would 
be several other boys and girls, all chatting and 
laughing together with Mr. Hayes. He crept into 
their hearts and stayed there. Instead of “snoop- 
ing” into things like Miss Ramsey, they kept noth- 
ing from him. Errors and faults were not crimes 
in Mr. Hayes’ eye, and they would talk over the 
matter among themselves just to see how they 
might be able to avoid them. Mr. Hayes never 
told Phelps that he should not quit school, but he 
set about to see that he did not want to quit. Grad- 
ually the work grew easier for him. His befogged 
mind began to clear up as he became comfortable 
in his class and secure from ridicule. Each step 
made him more confident of his strength. 

Phelps had told Mr. Hayes a great deal about 
the big woods over across the creek, so one Satur- 
day he went with Phelps to see them. They took 
a lunch with them and made a day of it. It was a 
day in late winter and fortunately the sun shone 
brightly and there was no snow. Phelps showed 
him the home of a certain old horned owl, and gave 
him quite a history of its family as he had been 
able to observe it. Then there was the wolE’s den, 


io8 


Phelps and His Teachers 


and the old fox squirrel’s, and many homes of den- 
izens of the woods that had to be visited. Then 
the different kind of trees were noted, and he 
could tell where certain plants grew in summer, the 
May-apple beds and the dog-tooth violets. 

In the spring when the first plants began to shoot 
up with vigor, and the meadows were taking on 
their coat of green, the principal announced one day 
from the platform that he was going to the big 
woods on Saturday for a day’s outing and any of 
his pupils could go that cared to do so. He knew 
they would all go, so after it was decided he told 
them they might just as well make the trip profit- 
able so they would turn it into a natural history 
class. Then he went on and told them that he 
would have to get them a teacher. They insisted 
that he should teach them. He told them he didn’t 
know enough about the big woods to do it properly, 
but he knew of a teacher he might be able to get. 
Then after sufficient pause to make it effective he 
said: “If Phelps Graham will take the class and 
teach it all the things he taught me a month or so 
ago on a trip over there, it will be splendid.” 

And it was splendid — the climax of that little 
speech. It redeemed a poor boy before the eyes 
of the school from a position of shame and ridicule 
to one of respect. There he sat stunned by the 
pleasure of being treated as if he had a heart and 
mind. He could not look up. Every eye in the 
room was turned toward him, as had occurred times 
without number, but not from such pleasurable 


Phelps and His Teachers 


109 

cause. Phelps had gained much lost ground in the 
eye of the school in the last two months, but still 
the surprise reached the proportions of a sensation. 
Here was presumably the dullest boy in the school 
placed in charge of the class as a teacher in natural 
history. It was discussed in many homes that 
night, and many hearts were made glad to know 
that Phelps was brighter than had been supposed. 

The class went to the woods next day as per 
program and was conducted by Mr. Hayes through 
Phelps. It seemed to the school that Phelps did it 
all, but it would have been done vastly different if 
Mr. Hayes had not been there to say a word here 
and direct a little there. The trip was voted a 
great success, and the kind of information Phelps 
had was popularized. Up to this time no one paid 
any attention to it nor thought it of any value to 
know such things. But as soon as Mr. Hayes said 
it was a good thing and he liked it, it became a fad 
among his pupils. 

So it was in this manner that Phelps Graham got 
a new grip on the real things of life, and he was 
old enough to retain it with greater security. His 
mind so long dwarfed because of his extreme sensi- 
tiveness and the ignorance of certain of his teach- 
ers, began to bud like a rose, and in time showed 
signs of opening in full bloom. 

AFTERWORD. 

It has been a great many years now since Phelps 
Graham and Mr. Hayes worked together in No. 8, 


no 


Phelps and His Teachers 


but through them all the boy, now a man in his 
prime, has not forgotten the hand he clutched in the 
darkness of his youthful years. The author has 
before him a letter received by Mr. Hayes from his 
former student which tells its own story. 

University Place, Jan. 20, 1900. 
Dear Mr. Hayes: 

I have just learned of your location, and hasten 
to make myself known to you. It has been so long 
ago, and so many good things have come to you, 
and to me, since those old days in No. 8, you may 
have forgotten me entirely. You have little reason 
for remembering me. But, my dear friend, you 
will never know the depth of my feelings for you 
until you are utterly lost and alone in some great, 
dark deep, where no human soul is in sight — where 
nothing but hopeless despair surrounds you on all 
sides. When you are ready to sink into the ocean 
of wretchedness around you there comes a smiling, 
kindly face through the mist, and you see loving 
hands reaching out to you in the darkness — 
you feel them touch your poor cold ones and draw 
you up out of it all — hold you in a warm brotherly 
clasp where the sun shines and where there is joy 
in living. Ah, not till then, my friend, will you 
know how I feel toward you. You gave me life — 
the first hope — and set me on the right road to re- 
gain my natural self from utter destruction. There 
was another who labored with you. Miss White, 
the noblest, bravest, and most loving woman I can 


Phelps and His Teachers 


III 


now recall that I have ever met. Peace be with 
her! To her also I owe a debt of gratitude that 
only a lifetime of service devoted to the struggling, 
needy students of this university can repay. 

So remembering all the sorrows of my youth and 
all the blessings you and Miss White brought me, 
I am trying to keep your examples ever before 
my eyes. I am a teacher of natural history as a 
result of your help and advice, and have put my 
observations into print in the form of several text- 
books which I am sending you by to-day’s express 
so you may see for yourself whether you builded 
well or ill that day, now so long past. It was the 
turning point in my life, and I am now trying to 
make my life like yours. I am looking down into 
all the dark places in this school, hunting hourly 
and daily for those white, hopeless faces that are 
looking up for a ray of light, and I am leaning over 
trembling with fear lest my grasp be not firm 
enough to lift them out. Ah, my friend, I know 
what it is to grasp a hand that is not steady — one 
that does not have eyes back of it that see clearly. 

If you have not changed since we met last you 
will know that I am paying a loving tribute to your 
greatness of heart, and soundness of mind. And I 
want you to say to Miss White, whom I now un- 
derstand is your beloved wife, that the memory of 
her dear face and of the touch of her tender hands 
has never dimmed, and often at twilight I sit 
thinking of her, and her brave and gentle deeds. 


II2 


Phelps and His Teachers 


God bless her soul, and yours! We shall probably 
never be able to meet face to face again but I shall 
always cherish you both in memory. 


PHELPS. 


THE END 




OU MAY ask after read- 
i n g these sketches o f 
Phelps’ teachers, what 
should a real teacher — one 
born to the work — be 
like? What should she 
do? How should she 
feel? — in short, you may 
want a detailed description 
of her. But this description is only possible in a 
general way. The roads to success are many, and 
our standards differ as men differ, yet it is suffi- 
cient that we agree on the underlying principles of 
the subject. 

It is agreed that Phelps’ teachers were not all 
born to the work. They are living examples of 
the different standards men have as to what a 
teacher should be. They were selected by busi- 
ness men and accepted by the city superintendent — 
all of whom are good average citizens. There- 
fore it follows that Miss Ramsey, Miss Yerkes and 
the nameless one will find places in the public 
schools so long as the masses of the people have a 



11 




1 14 Phelps and His Teachers 

crude and underestimated idea of the great work 
placed in the hands of our teachers. These ladies 
are not teaching because there are not others to be 
had fitter for the work, but because we do not 
thoroughly appreciate the importance of it. We 
take any one who comes, with never a thought that 
if the right ones do not come we still have the 
privilege of going out into the highways and 
hedges, stores and factories — anywhere, where great, 
strong, tactful souls may be found, and bringing 
them into the work they are fitted for. If we were 
only discerning enough we could find them every- 
where. Some are plowing corn, some working on 
the railroad, some delving in mines, some preaching, 
clerking, and practicing law. In the business world 
we go out and hunt the right man and bring him 
to the task he can do best. In the school board 
world they line up and take turns for the places 
made vacant by death and matrimony. It can 
scarcely be termed a selection at all. The masses 
of the people are not impressed with the importance 
of having big-hearted, clever people as teachers. 
Anybody can teach a school, especially if it be 
small, they will tell you, because main strength is 
not needed to keep order. Any one can act as 
county superintendent, they think, who can exam- 
ine a manuscript. So if a man has been unfortu- 
nate in business, if death has stalked into his family, 
or if it be a poor woman who has a family to sup- 
port, or some poor girl who wants to educate her- 
self, the people, ever ready, as a rule, to help those 


Phelps and His Teachers 


115 

in need, will put them in as public school teachers, 
or into some public office. It is easier to help the 
needy by giving them a public position than to 
take it out of our own pockets. So that is the way 
we partially fill our schoolrooms with teachers, and 
our public offices with servants. 

Therefore there is much need of educating the 
masses to the great importance of selecting our 
teachers from the very cream of humanity. Honor 
the profession and good men and women will seek 
it. Fill your schoolrooms with a nondescript 
corps of teachers and the salary sinks to their 
level — the calling ceases to be attractive to those 
who have talents for uplifting the community. 

Since in most states the county superintendent is 
the principal authority for issuing teachers’ certifi- 
cates, it is very important that he be discerning 
enough to reject the applications of such teachers 
as Miss Ramsey, Miss Yerkes, and the nameless 
one. His duties are so fraught with consequences 
for good or evil to the public that few people who 
appreciate this fact would care to take on such a 
burden of responsibility. Yet like that of school- 
teaching, the aspirants for this office are plentiful 
and the people are the examiners before whom they 
appear. Would that they were sufficiently discern- 
ing to reject those applicants who are not able to 
read a human heart. It is very important that this 
officer be able to look into your very heart. If he 
is wise he will do so the very first thing he does 
when you appear before him for an examination. 


ii6 Phelps and His Teachers 

He will want to know what sort of a thing it is. 
He will want to know if it is sincere, sympathetic 
and hopeful. He will want to know if you love 
children, and can make them love you. He will 
want to know if you are quiet, forceful, energetic, 
and sensible. All these things are important fac- 
tors, and the question for you to ask yourself is, 
can you fill these conditions. 

Technical information on subjects required to be 
taught, of course is important, but it is a secondary 
matter. Some examiners may only require of you 
an examination on the branches of study, and upon 
the result of your showing will depend your certi- 
ficate. But your success will depend on what sort 
of a heart you have. All these forms are nothing 
so far your future is concerned. If your heart is 
not right you cannot succeed. 

So if I were you, I would take an inventory of 
myself before I appeared before the examiner, and 
see just how I stood. By all means you ought to 
find that you are honest, that is believe in honesty. 
None of us is so very honest, but it is important 
that we believe in honesty. You ought to be think- 
ing about your work and planning for it. If you 
are, and if you are sincere about it, all this will 
show in your countenance when you go before the 
examiner, and will be placed to your credit. It is 
not sufficient that you act well and look clean of 
mind and body. You must be just what you seem. 
The person who acts other than he feels may de- 


Phelps and His Teachers 


117 

ceive the examiner, but he deceives himself more. 
He simply piles barriers in his road to success. 

When you have fitted yourself for this important 
work, you will show it in every line of your face, 
and the carriage of your body. A natural teacher 
can be felt as well as seen. You will have about 
you an air of gentleness, and sweetness of temper 
that will fill the superintendent’s office with sun- 
shine. He will brighten up under the influence of 
your presence just as your pupils will when you 
appear before them. He is looking for just such a 
person as you appear to him to be. Every sense 
he has comes to your support and tells him you are 
pure gold. In a short time he has placed you on a 
high pedestal and is hoping he may keep you 
there. Here is the point in your career where you 
will see the value of being the real thing y and not 
a sham. It pays you, not directly, perhaps, in dol- 
lars and cents, but in that chastened and respectful 
feeling you have for yourself as you feel the rever- 
ence and respect that is shown you on every hand. 

Teachers of that kind are so scarce every one of 
them should be cared for as loving wards of the 
people. You may say the people do not care for 
them — that they like shams better, but you deceive 
yourself when you say it. They may not always 
show their appreciation in a substantial way, but 
you will always find that the real teachers are 
loved, and the good they do is ample reward. 
Then, too, dollars and cents cannot pay for all the 
heart they give to their people. Nothing but heart 


ii8 Phelps and His Teachers 

in return can cancel such a debt. They, only^ 
have learned to live so as to get the most out of 
life. They know how to make school hfe^ not a 
preparation for life. 

But on the other hand, if your superintendent 
finds no indications of deep-rooted honesty of pur- 
pose, and special talent for teaching, he will quietly 
turn down your application and mark it rejected. 
He may not say why he rejects you. In fact, he 
may not be able to tell just what your defect is. 
But outward indications lead him to believe you are 
wrong — that your heart is out of tune, but he can- 
not precisely locate the cause of the discord. 

You will feel quite ugly about it when he noti- 
fies you that you have failed. You will say you 
are just as fit as anybody, and especially that Mary 
Jones, who got a certificate the same day you 
failed. You may even believe it. Perhaps no one 
has ever been kind enough to you to put a finger 
on each of your defects, so you could be sure you 
had them. Then again you may be wise and know 
all about your sore spots, and think the way to win 
is to hide them and let them go on eating out your 
heart. You may have thought you could cover 
them up with good clothes and smiles. 

So if the superintendent made no mistake when 
he turned down your application, you will at once 
set about explaining to your friends what a mean 
man he was to treat you thus. You will make out 
an ugly case against him — prove that your religion, 
or the politics of your father, or prejudice guided 


Phelps and His Teachers 119 

him in his action against you. In truth, your every 
action will be so small and contemptible that no 
further evidence of your lack of fitness for teaching 
will be needed. 

Suppose, however, that the superintendent did 
make a mistake when he rejected your application 
— that you were the genuine article and he had 
misread the signs. What would you do then? There 
is only one thing you could do if the superintendent 
was mistaken. You would set about correcting his 
mistake. You would feel at once that he did not 
understand you. It would never in a lifetime occur 
to you to accuse him of prejudice or attribute any- 
thing but the highest motive to his actions. You 
could not do this, because in your heart you 
would have no measure of human nature small 
enough to weigh that quality in your fellow men. 
Your whole soul would be wrapped up in a desire 
to show him that you are worthy. In a short time 
he would be surprised to find you were not abusing 
him. He would expect you to do that because he 
thinks he made no mistake when he rejected your 
application. He would note at once, if you gave 
him a chance, that you were sweet-tempered and 
hopeful — that you could greet him pleasantly. This 
manner of yours would attract him and he would 
begin to wonder if he had not made a mistake. 
Each time he saw you this idea would take a 
stronger hold on him. “Here is a girl,” he would 
say to himself, “who is big enough and broad 
enough to see beyond her little sphere in life.” It 


120 


Phelps and His Teachers 


would not be long before you would get together, 
and you would get your own — all that’s coming to 
you. You will always get it. Don’t forget this 
important truth, that in the end we always get all 
we are entitled to have. If we fail to get what we 
desire, it is because there is a mistake somewhere. 
It may be so small that the span of a life ,is not 
sufficiently long to enable us to find it, but the fact 
that we fail is the proof thereof. 




UN 19 1902 

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